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THE HARVARD VOLUNTEERS 
IN EUROPE 

PERSONAL RECORDS OF EXPERIENCE IN 

MILITARY, AMBULANCE, AND 

HOSPITAL SERVICE 



V* ^^^DtTED BY 

MP^Arf)EWOLFE HOWE 




CAMBRIDGE 
HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS 

LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD 

Oxf OBD University Press 

I916 






COPYMGHT, I916 
HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS 




8 1316 



'C1.A445552 



THE VOLUNTEERS 

From fields of toil and fields of play, 
Wherever surged the game of life. 

All eager for the mightier fray, 

They sped them to the clashing strife — 

To fight the fight, to heal the hurt. 
To sail the chartless tracts of air. 

Eyes forward, head and heart alert. 
To pay their undemanded share. 

For so their Ancient Mother taught, 
And so they learned it at her knee — 

Where mercy, peril, death are wrought, 
There, in the ruck of things, to he. 

And thus they wage, with euery nerve. 
The great day's work — nor that alone, 

But, ^neath what flag soever they serve, 
Brighten the colors of their own. 



PREFATORY 

AT the outbreak of the European war, during 
the season of summer travel in 19 14, many 
Harvard men were in Europe. Not a few of them 
were attached to the United States embassies and 
legations in the various capitals. The business of 
these offices immediately became pressing in the 
extreme. The labors of those officially connected 
with them were shared at once by volunteers — the 
first of the Harvard fellowship to offer a helping 
hand where it was needed in the sudden disorganiza- 
tion of an orderly world. The call to the colors of 
the various warring nations quickly drew into the 
conflict those who owed allegiance to one or another 
flag. In mihtary service, such as that of the For- 
eign Legion and Flying Corps of the French Army, 
others have expressed the allegiance of sympathy 
if not of birth. But it has been in the organization 
of hospital service and in the work of ambulance 
corps engaged in the dangerous task of bringing 
wounded men with all possible speed to the minis- 



vi PREFATORY 

trations of surgeons and nurses that Harvard has 
had by far the largest numerical representation. In 
hospital work it has been even an official repre- 
sentation, for the Surgical Units sent in the spring 
of 191 5 to the American Ambulance Hospital in 
Paris, and in the summer of the same year to equip 
a British military hospital in France — a service 
undertaken originally for three months, but con- 
tinued until the present time — were Units bearing 
the name and sanction of the University, through 
its Medical School. From the Medical School also 
Professor Strong was detached for his service of 
world-wide importance in combatting, successfully, 
the plague of typhus in Servia. 

At the end of this volume a list of the Harvard 
men who have participated in various forms of ser- 
vice, in Europe, in connection with the War — a list 
for which it is impossible to claim completeness — 
is printed. It would doubtless be longer if our 
own affairs on the Mexican border in the summer of 
1 916 had not drawn thither many young Harvard 
men of the type chiefly represented among the am- 
bulance drivers in France. A Hst of those, young 
and old, who have identified themselves, to not- 



PREFATORY vii 

able purpose, with relief work in America would be 
quite unwieldy in its proportions. 

Of the more than four hundred men recorded as 
rendering their personal services in Europe, all but 
four have helped the cause of the Allies. From 
this fact it is not fair to draw the overwhelming 
conclusion that is most obvious. The Harvard 
Medical School is known to have been ready to 
undertake the organization of a Surgical Unit for 
service in Germany, in the event of the German 
government asking for it as the British govern- 
ment asked for the Unit maintained in France. 
That Harvard men of German birth and sym- 
pathies, led by a spirit of idealism and loyalty, 
would have given their services to Germany if 
access to the Teutonic countries had been possible, 
there can be no doubt. 

It is, however, with those who have served, or are 
serving, in Europe that this volume must deal. 
From them have proceeded inmmierable letters, 
diaries, and other records, a few of which have been 
available for the present purpose. The passages 
here brought together will be found to illustrate 
both the wide variety of the work in which Harvard 



viii PREFATORY 

men have been engaged and the zeal they have 
brought to its performance. It is a matter of regret 
that, although letters from the German side have 
been desired and definitely sought, they have not 
been obtainable. But the collection now offered 
does not aim at completeness. That must await 
the end of the War, and a scheme of encyclopedic 
dimensions. Meanwhile the following pages may 
contribute something to a knowledge of what has 
been going on in Europe, and of the part that 
Harvard men have played in it. 

Boston, October, 1916. 



CONTENTS 

Prefatory v 

Early in Belgium 3 

Francis T. Colby, '05. 

Life and Death in the Trenches 14 

A. C. Champollion, '02. 
H. G. Byng, '13. 

An Illustrated Letter 25 

Pierre Alexandre Gouvy. 

A Zeppelin over Paris 28 

Francis Jaques, ^03. 

At the American Ambulance Hospital 32 

Robert B. Greenough, '92. 
Harvey Gushing, M.D., '95. 
George Benet, M.D.,'13. 

At a French Hospital Near the Line SS 

George Benet, M.D., '13. 

The Work in Serbia. 61 

George C. Shattuck, '01. 

With the American Ambulance Hospital Motors . 77 
John Paulding Brown, '14. 
Dallas D. L. McGrew, '03. 

The American Volunteer Motor-Ambulance Corps 84 
Richard Norton, '92. 

A Laborer in the Trenches 105 

F. C. Baker, '12. 

is 



X CONTENTS 

I^E American Distributing Service 109 

Langdon Warner, '03. 

A Harvard Club at the Front 115 

Stephen Galatti, '10. 

A Scene in Alsace 118 

Waldo Peirce, '07. 

The Death of a Comrade 122 

Tracy J. Putnam, '15. 

With the Foreign Legion 133 

Alan Seeger, ' 10. 
David W. King, '16. 
Henry W. Farnsworth, '12. 

From A Royal Field Artillery Lieutenant ... 161 
Charles D. Morgan, '06. 

The Military Hospital Units 171 

David Cheever, '97. 

Frank H. Cushman, D.M.D., '15. 

W. R. Morrison, '10. 

The Day's Work in an Ambulance Corps .... 189 
Richard Norton, '92. 

Undergraduates in the Ambulance Service .... 203 
Philip C. Lewis, '17. 
John F. Brown, Jr., '18. 

From the Letters of Two Ambulance Drivers . . 215 
C. S. Forbes, '00. 
C. R. Codman, 2d, '15. 

" Le Roi de l'Air est Royalement Mort " . . . . 229 
Victor Chapman, '13. 

Harvard Men in the European War 241 



THE HARVARD VOLUNTEERS 
IN EUROPE 



4 EARLY IN BELGIUM 

COLONNE D'AmbULANCE, i^re DIVISION, CAVALERIE BeLGE, 

December 19, 1914.^ 
We left Paris on December 7, loaded with every pound 
we could carry in relief gifts to the Belgian refugees, 
given by Mrs. H. P. Whitney. We carried two car- 
loads of sweaters, one carload of underclothes, one 
carload of chocolate and socks, and one car loaded 
with all the fixings and necessaries for an operating 
room, given by Mr. Bacon. Altogether it was a splen- 
did freight of American gifts, and I never felt like so 
real a Santa Claus before. 

I have six cars all told. 

One 20-horsepower Daimler, and supply car for this; 
food and spare tires. 

One 30-horsepower Daimler ambulance, i. e., the big 
one you have a picture of, carrying six litters or ten 
sitting cases. 

Four 15-horsepower Daimlers, taking four litters or 
six sitting cases. . . . 

We went to Beauvais the first night, and Samer, 
near Boulogne, the second, in heavy rain and with a 
good deal of tire trouble because of our heavy loads. 
We reached Dunkirk on Tuesday, the 9th, and gave 
our cargo to the Belgian authorities, who were very 

^ Reprinted from Boston Evening Transcript. 



FRANCIS T. COLBY, '05 5 

much pleased indeed. The operating room was, I 
believe, put to immediate use. 

I tendered the services of myself and my ambulance 
detachment and was accepted and ordered to report 
to the premiere division of cavalry. This I at once 
did. The i^" Division is made up of the very flower 
of the Belgian army, largely officered by noblemen. 
We have been received with the greatest courtesy, and 
have been assured that the ambulance detachment was 
a thing of which they were in the greatest need, and 
that it should have a large number of men who would 
otherwise have to be left on the field of battle. This, 
unfortunately, has often happened in the past. 

For several days we have been carrying French 
wounded for a neighboring hospital, and find that our 
cars are in every way fitted for the work on these 
northern roads, which are worse than anything we have 
met before. It rains every day — just like Southern 
Alaska — and everywhere except the centre of the 
road, which is apt to be of cobble-stones, is a foot deep 
in mud. Of course you have got to get off the cobble- 
stones when you meet artillery or big motor trucks, 
and it takes a good driver not to stall his car. . . . 



6 EARLY IN BELGIUM 

FuRNES, Belge, December 25, 1914.* 

This is Christmas night, or rather was, for it is now 
after midnight, and strangely enough I've had a Christ- 
mas dinner. The town is filled with soldiers of many 
•regiments, some marching in from the trenches and 
others going out. All very quiet but very determined. 
The main square is a dehghtful place, with old churches 
of 1562 and a charming old Hotel de Ville of the best 
Flemish architecture. I am " billetted " at the house 
of the teading lawyer. That is to say, the officer in 
charge of quartering troops has given me a small docu- 
ment which forces this good gentleman to provide me 
with a bed and lodging as an officer of the Belgian 
army. In fact, I am a guest and have just left my host, 
whose brother has many African trophies here. My 
room is large, with many paintings of the Dutch and 
Flemish School, inlaid tables, and best of all, a huge 
bed, for it is a long time since I have slept in a bed of 
any kind. 

This morning I waked to the distant rumble of guns, 
but they sounded a long way off, and are so in fact — 
largely the British ships shelling the German trenches. 
The battalion to which I am attached, namely cycKsts, 
made up of our cavalrymen whose horses have been 
* From Harvard Alumni Bulletin, February 3, 1915. 



FRANCIS T. COLBY, '05 7 

killed, left for the trenches this afternoon. We did not 
go with them because their pace is too slow to be 
economical for motors, but shall follow tomorrow. 

Just before lunch I motored to La Panne, where 
there is a large hospital in which the Queen herself is 
interested. I took the surgical shirts which you have 
sent me as a Christmas gift, and had the satisfaction of 
giving them and knowing that they were of immediate 
use, without delay or red tape. I also offered to give a 
large part of the anaesthetics which you are sending 
me, but which have not yet reached me. . . . 

I went out this morning with Sir Bar tie Frere to see 
a young English doctor who has been with an ambu- 
lance attached to the first Belgian artillery division, as 
we are to the cavalry. He was very glad to see us and 
it seemed to be quite a part of his Christmas. He told 
me many interesting things about the work and gave 
me much valuable information. Unfortunately he has 
been wounded three times, the last time so seriously 
that he will not be able to take the field again, if he 
recovers. I lunched with a company of English ambu- 
lance people who are connected with the British Red 
Cross. They are very pleasant and gave me a lot of 
chocolate, marmalade, and EngHsh cigarettes. 

This afternoon we were just putting the cars in the 
courtyard of the British hospital, when the Germans 



8 EARLY IN BELGIUM 

took it into their heads to give us a taste of their big 
guns. The first shot was a beauty, range and deflection 
perfect, but luckily for us the height of burst a little 
too great. The report sounded louder than usual and 
after it we heard the scream of the projectile, then the 
sharp blast as the shrapnel burst about one hundred 
and fifty yards short. The bullets struck the building 
and in the courtyard all around us, but the cars were 
not hit. A woman in a house about one hundred yards 
short had her arm taken off by the case. 

After that the Germans fired for about an hour. I 
thought it best to see that the cars would start, in case 
they wanted us to move the wounded, and imagine our 
disgust when Gardy's [Gardiner F. Hubbard, 'oo] car, 
usually a most docile beast, refused to give even a 
cough. We had to take down the whole of the gasoline 
supply system in the dark and found that water from 
the cursed French " essence '' had collected and frozen 
solid in the pipes. All the while the Germans were 
shooting. The reports reached us about two or three 
seconds before we could hear the scream of the shell, 
so we would flatten up against the wall when we heard 
a shot and then go to work again. The Germans 
stopped shooting at about 8.30, and we sat down to 
our dinner at a little before nine. I was the guest of 
the small (English) gathering of medical officers and 



FRANCIS T. COLBY, ^05 9 

nurses in Furnes. All were in uniform and just from 
work. As I was going to wash the grease off my hands 
before dinner I passed the woman who had been hit by 
the shrapnel which so nearly got us. She had had her 
arm amputated, and was just coming out of the ether. 

The dinner was much like ours at home — a big 
U-shaped table for sixty people, with the flags of the 
Allies draped among the Christmas things of all kinds 
— bonbons and " crackers " on the table, champagne 
in the glasses, and best of all, turkey and plum pudding. 
The man on my right was a '' real one "; he owned his 
own ambulance and has been in it from the beginning. 
Six weeks ago he was wounded by a bomb from an 
aeroplane while taking wounded out of Nieuport and 
he is just back in service again. We drank the health 
of the Belgian and EngHsh kings, and of absent ones, 
and sang '' For he's a jolly good fellow " to several 
people. 

All told, it was a good dinner, and if any one had 
feelings other than those usual at Christmas, he kept 
them to himself. The German guns might just as well 
have been across the Rhine, as across the Yser, as far 
as our dinner was concerned. That is Hke the English; 
the more I see of them, and the Belgians also, the better 
I like them. It is very late and I cannot write again 
for some days, for I am busy from early morning to 



lo EARLY IN BELGIUM 

late evening. Just now that big bed in the corner is too 
attractive and too unusual to this kind of life to be put 
aside any longer, and so good night. 

Happy New Year. 

FuRNES, December 31, 1914.^ 

The last long letter I wrote was Christmas night, and 
I told you about being shelled and about our Christmas 
dinner. Well, the next morning I went down to the 
courtyard of the hospital to do some work on the cars 
before taking two of them out to the trenches to our 
battalion, which had just gone in. We were soon 
interested in an aeroplane which came over us from the 
north. Just as it reached our zenith there was a zigging 
sound not unHke a shell, followed by a sharp explosion, 
and a house about two hundred yards away flew into 
pieces. The aeroplane had hardly dropped its first 
bomb when the soldiers came swarming from their 
houses, and the cracking of rifles sounded on every 
side, and soon a machine gun got into action, and 
Furnes was a lively Httle town. The German did not 
seem to care, and dropped three more bombs, and then 
seemed to find it too hot for him and got out — not 
until, however, he had dipped to give his gunners our 
range and deflection. 

^ Reprinted from Boston Evening Transcript. 



FRANCIS T. COLBY, '05 11 

That morning I went out to join our battaKon just 
back of the trenches. The roads were paves in the 
middle and then a drop of anywhere from six inches to 
a foot and a half in the soft mud. I got forced off by a 
big motor truck, and laid my best car up with a broken 
clutch bearing. I was towed home, and in the after- 
noon again went out with two cars. Placed one with 
our battalion, and with the other went to a French bat- 
tery which was in action. The captain had been 
wounded, and we also picked up two wounded men 
and took them all straight through to Dunkirk at the 
request of the medical authorities. 

That is why my letter is mailed from Dunkirk. My 
cars are all now working either with the battaHon to 
which I am attached, or for the Dr. Depage Hospital 
at La Panne, or the British Hospital here. 

Yesterday we had a most interesting, but fatal, 
exhibition of the combination of gunners and artillery. 
A Taube came over in the morning, and dropped a 
bomb, which caused great loss of hfe. In the afternoon 
two Taubes came over, and just as one of them got 
over a certain point it dipped. Hunter and I were on 
our way up in a motor, and speeded up to get away 
before the bomb fell. None were thrown, however; 
instead, the enemy's artillery opened fire. They did 
not hit this certain place, but the shells did great 



12 EARLY IN BELGIUM 

damage, and killed a lot of people. Soldiers were en 
route to the trenches. 

FxjRNES, January 24, 1915. 

The morning of the 2 2d was clear, and, as usual on 
clear mornings, the German aeroplanes visited us. It 
was a very wonderful scene — the aeroplanes above, 
the boom of anti-aircraft guns all about, and the air 
filled in the neighborhood of the planes with little white 
puffs of smoke and the bursting of shrapnel. I went 
down in a motor to Gyzelt to report to my command- 
ing officer, and on the way back saw another aeroplane 
fight, and shrapnel, and a British biplane to help. One 
of the Germans dropped a bullet through the petrol 
tank, and had to come down about two kilometres 
from Adinkerke. We motored up across the canal in a 
boat and had a look at the machine — a beauty, and 
quite uninjured, with a crowd of delighted French and 
Belgians about it. 

That night Carroll left for Paris, and had scarcely 
gone when the bombardment here began. The operat- 
ing room was soon filled with wounded — all soldiers 
this time. Five ambulances, luckily not mine, were 
smashed, and much damage done. The shooting 
stopped, and I went to bed and read a novel for a 
time, but it was not long before I heard the scream of 
another shell, and turned out to search for wounded. 



FRANCIS T. COLBY, '05 13 

We spent the night in cellars, but personally I slept 
pretty well. 

Yesterday morning all was quiet until about ten 
o'clock when the Germans opened fire. I took Van- 
deraa, a Belgian soldier in my command, and went out 
into the town. It was the real thing, and plenty of it. 
I reported for duty to the commanding officer. The 
staff and most of the motors had gone, and the streets 
were deserted. I found plenty to do, for the houses 
were filled with soldiers, and each shell got its quota. 
We soon filled the cars and returned for more. I took 
only the wounded, and left the dead where they lay. 
There was satisfaction in feehng that one was tending 
to the w^ounded under fire, and I think I was right in 
staying here. After the shelling stopped, we took all 
the nurses from the hospital and large numbers of old 
and crippled civilians to places of safety. One of the 
nurses, however, was seriously wounded, and will lose 
her leg. 



LIFE AND DEATH IN THE TRENCHES 

EARLY in the War, Andre Cheronet Cham- 
pollion, '02, a naturalized American citizen of 
French descent, enlisted in the French Army. He 
was a grandson of the late Austin Corbin and a 
great-grandson of Jean Frangois ChampoUion, the 
eminent Egyptologist who deciphered the Rosetta 
Stone. A painter by profession, he was also a 
hunter of big game and had lived much in the open. 
Yet without military training, he began his army 
life as a private in a platoon of candidates at Sens. 
There his hope was to be ^^ sent to the front to fill 
the gaps left by other petty officers, who have been 
^ knocked in the block.' If I behave myself at the 
front, I may get promoted to adjutant or second 
lieutenant." On March i, 191 5, he went to the 
front, and wrote the first of the two following 
letters to his friend, Anton Schefer, '03, of New 
York. The second letter, dated March 20, was 
written only three days before he fell at Bois-le- 
Pretre, in France, killed by a bullet in the forehead. 



A. C. CHAMPOLLION, '02 15 

At the Front, March i, 1915.* 

It may interest you to know that this letter is written 
in the trenches, thirty yards away from the enemy's 
lines, with the continual crashing of artillery all 
around and the shells whizzing directly over our heads. 
I have indicated by cross every time a shell passes over 
us during the composition of this note. If I punctu- 
ated the explosions, I should have to stop between each 
letter. It is astonishing how quickly one gets used to 
the racket. The first two or three times you lower your 
head involuntarily, and then you take the noise as a 
matter of course. We are in a forest in a regular 
labyrinth of trenches, some entirely underground, and 
we are plastered with mud from head to foot. It is a 
Kfe of filth and misery beyond description, but so 
extraordinarily novel and interesting that, strange as 
it may seem, I am in good spirits. I have only been 
here twenty-four hours, and I dare say when the 
novelty wears off that I shall get damned sick of it. 
This morning it snowed and rained, but this afternoon 
a cold wind is blowing and the sun is out. . . . 

Before leaving Sens, I passed the medical examina- 
tion and was given my outfit. The uniform consists 
of light blue cap and coat, with dark blue trousers. We 

^ From Harvard Alumni Bulletin, April 7, 1915. 



1 6 IN THE TRENCHES 

have to carry, besides gun, knapsack and cartridge belt, 
a canvas tent with pegs (cracking of German rifles at 
our trench) our rug and rubber sleeping-bag, a gourd 
full of fire-water of some kind; and two small canvas 
bags filled with odds and ends, most of which cannot be 
used, soon get lost or get caked with mud. The whole 
weighs about thirty-five or forty pounds, and at first 
you feel as if you had another man on your back. We 
left Sens at night, and spent twenty-four hours huddled 
in third-class carriages. The next night we spent in 
rather clean barracks, where they actually supplied us 
with cots instead of straw bedding. The next morn- 
ing another trip by rail. At about ten o'clock we were 
landed at an unattractive village, where we were made 
to stack arms in the mud of a vegetable garden. . . . 
Here we saw some of the wounded on their way to the 
rear. Some were merely sick, others minus a leg or 
arm. We also began hearing the roar of distant artil- 
lery and saw some aeroplanes and observation balloons. 
That night we spent on the straw, and the next day, 
after a march through the rain, we got to the last settle- 
ment before getting to the trenches. This place was 
full of soldiers who had been to the front, judging from 
the dilapidated and filthy condition of their uniforms. 
They looked at us with curiosity, in our new outfits, 
and seemed to consider us like tenderfeet, especially 



A. C. CHAMPOLLION, '02 17 

those of us who were going under fire for the first time. 
At about three o'clock we (about three hundred men) 
halted in a wood and were given our final instructions. 
We then marched along a muddy road (nothing 
unusual by the way) and soon entered the long com- 
mum'cation-trench, single file, which was to lead us to 
the second and first Hne of trenches. During this time 
the roar of guns were quite perceptible, to say the 
least, and now the first shells went whizzing over our 
heads above the trees. 

The trenches are lines, one behind the other of 
course, but joined together in all directions by every 
kind of communication-trench, like the streets of a 
city, for a man never shows his head above ground. 
There are all kinds of subterranean cells and passages; 
also one has to sleep under ground, wallow in the mud, 
eat in the mud. Our hands and faces, our uniforms, 
above all our feet, are caked with it all day. The sleep- 
ing quarters are fairly well protected from the rain, but 
the greatest hardships are the mud, the wet, the ina- 
bility to wash the slightest bit, as water — except 
rain — is very rare — and for me who am tall, the con- 
tinual necessity of stooping down so as not to get my 
head knocked off by the enemy's snipers. We are given 
plenty to eat. The men's spirits are pretty good. It is 
marvellous what you can stand when you are obliged 



1 8 IN THE TRENCHES 

to. Gosh, think of kicking in a New York restaurant 
because the service is not up to the mark! 

Last night we slept in the sleeping cells of the second 
line trenches (not so bad) but today we are nose to 
nose with the enemy on the frontiest of fronts. We 
live the lives of woodchucks whose holes are within 
forty yards of Kimton's [a New Hampshire hunter's] 
front door. We are not troubled by bomb or shell 
explosions because we are so near the enemy. Their 
artillery fire might damage their own men along with 
ours. It is the damnedest life imaginable. In some 
ways it is better than Sens ... for you really feel as 
if you were in the game. All the petty annoyances of 
Sens are over. You are no longer treated Hke an 
irresponsible ass, but like a man, though you live the 
life of a beast or of a savage. . . . 

I forgot to mention the fact that we are also pro- 
tected by rapid fire guns, completely under cover, in 
cells like those in which we sleep. The cannonading 
goes in wave motions. For an hour, like ii to 12 this 
morning, it may be very violent, then calm down and 
then begin again. 

At the Front, March 20, 1915.^ 

Six days ago we left the village of *' Dunghurst " at 

two in the morning and got back to the trenches at 

^ From Harvard Alumni Bulletin, April 28, 1915. 



A. C. CHAMPOLLION, '02 19 

about eight, that is, six hours later. When we first 
entered the long communication-trench, things seemed 
pretty quiet. Only a shot and an explosion at long 
intervals could be heard. We had travelled along the 
communication-trench about half an hour, and were 
about to enter our shelters in the second line trenches 
when not far away came two fairly loud bomb explo- 
sions in quick succession. Then the earth seemed all 
of a sudden to reel. There was a commotion like the 
bursting asunder of a volcano. Two hundred yards 
off, above the trees, a column of huge rocks, lumps of 
earth, tree-trunks, and probably numerous human 
limbs, rose slowly and majestically. The upper frag- 
ments, as they rose, seemed to advance menacingly in 
our direction, as if they must surely hit us when they 
returned to earth. They seemed suspended in the air 
for an indefinite space of time, as if there was no hurry 
at aU about their faUing back. They seemed to cross 
and criss-cross in all directions, now obscuring half the 
sky. Gradually the mass assumed the shape of the 
upper portion of an elm tree, and then began to 
subside. Then could be heard the smashing sound 
of the tree branches as this mass of rock and earth 
fell back with the crushing force of an avalanche. 
Everybody ducked and plunged head first into the 
shelters. 



20 IN THE TRENCHES 

Almost immediately there came the sound of thous- 
ands of heavy rain drops on a stiff canvass or the snap- 
ping of innumerable small whips; all this punctuated 
by a peculiar bizz, bizz, whizz sound hke someone 
whistling in surprise. I could not help making the 
inward remark, ^' I knew war was tough, but look here, 
boys, isn't this a bit too rough ? " It seemed that the 
Germans had exploded a mine under one of our 
trenches, then opened a violent fusillade to capture 
what remained of it. Being second line troops just 
arrived from resting up, we were not required to fight. 
We consequently were huddled together in a bomb- 
proof shelter, packed all day Hke sardines, but quite 
satisfied to remain where we were, while above our 
heads shot and shell seemed to pass for several hours 
with unexampled violence. That night also was 
" stormy," but since then, that is for the last ^ve days, 
there has been little else but sniping and desultory 
firing by the artillery. In the above action we lost 
sixty men killed and two hundred wounded, but the 
enemy failed to capture the trench and lost a few 
yards of one they had held the day before. 

The day after the explosion I saw many dead aind 
wounded men carried out of the trenches on stretchers. 
Some of the wounded seemed more mauled than some 
of the dead. Behind a hedge at the end of the com- 



A. C. CHAMPOLLION, '02 21 

munication-trench, which hedge is erected to conceal 
our movements, I counted twenty-five dead men lined 
up for burial. Their faces were usually concealed by 
part of their uniforms, but their arms assumed every 
imaginable attitude, gestures of prayer, attitudes of 
men pleading, some even seemed threatening. Here 
and there big red gashes and splotches indicated where 
they had been hit. A few men are hit every day by the 
desultory artillery fire and the sniping. 

All the trees in this wood show signs of the punish- 
ment they have received. Whole acres are shaved 
down, trees two feet in diameter have been broken in 
two like matches by 210 mm. shells. Almost all have 
lost branches. Their trunks are all scarred by bullet 
holes and scratches. 

In the second line trenches we Hve the fives of con- 
victs at hard labor. Either we have to dig more 
trenches or carry heavy logs, iron bars, bales of hay, 
etc., from the outside, along the communication- 
trench to where we are " lodged," a distance of about 
half a mile. As the communication-trenches are 
always congested with men coming and going, this 
work is aU the more irksome. 

We five fike swine. There is no water, so we never 
wash or even brush our teeth. We are not aUowed to 
drink water. We simply five in filth. At night we are 



2 2 IN THE TRENCHES 

huddled together in a small bomb-proof or covered 
trench. Though we are pretty well protected from the 
weather and bullets, we have hardly room enough to 
turn around in. We use candles to light up this 
terries, but nevertheless everything gets lost or hope- 
lessly dirty. We eat from the pail, and can get or send 
for all the red or white wine we want. In the morning, 
besides tepid coffee, we are given a swig of rum which 
warms our stomach and starts the blood going. This 
small pleasure and continued pipe smoking are about 
our only joys — but hold — there is also our mail, 
which we get fairly regularly. 

There is no longer a ghost of a chance for me to be 
made interpreter. Write often, old top. 

Your faithful friend, 

'' Champy." 

THE TOMMIES' PHILOSOPHY 

Another letter from the trenches should be added 
to these of ChampoUion. It was written to Pro- 
fessor C. T. Copeland, by a young Englishman, 
Harry Gustav Byng, a graduate of Harvard in 
1 913, who enlisted as a private in the London 
Artists' Riiies early in the War, and, at the date 
borne by his letter, was on the point of receiving a 



HARRY GUSTAV BYNG, '13 23 

commission in the 2d Border Regiment. On March 
22, 1 91 5, he was married in London to an American. 
On May 16, he was killed near Festubert in 
France. In the light of Byng's brief career as a 
private and officer, his letter carries with it more 
than its manifest simpHcity. 

March 5, 1915. 

I HAVE been over here since last October. I enlisted 
in a regiment which is composed entirely of University 
men — named " the Artists " — but I am now going to 
take a commission. Life is much more simple and 
pleasant as a private amongst friends ; but they need 
officers who have had a certain amount of experience, 
so there is no help for it. 

Trench Hfe, of which luckily I have not had so 
much as a good many others, is at times monotonous 
and at times exciting. Last week when out scouting 
in a mist, I ran into a German patrol — then it was 
exciting. At the present moment I am sitting in a 
" dug out," while our gunners and the Germans are 
having some practice — this is monotonous. At first 
you worry about the landing places of the shells, but 
there are so many different noises, that not being 
able to keep track of them all, it is simpler to ignore 
them. " Yer never 'ears the bullet wot cops yer '' 



24 IN THE TRENCHES 

is the Tommies' philosophy — and it is the best 
one. . . . 

Do not believe the stories you hear about the apathy 
of England. Racing may continue, and probably our 
respectable cricket will commence at the regular date 
— that I suppose is our nature, but we are in earnest 
about this war. Whenever peace may be, you may be 
sure it will only be after our job is finished. Person- 
ally I hope to be in Boston again this year. 



AN ILLUSTRATED LETTER 

THE scenes at the front are for the most part 
illustrated by graphic words. In a letter from 
Pierre Alexandre Gouvy, recently of the Business 
School, the pen was put to this double use : 




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♦Wjt^ t**^ M^X<tU^« »tf^ COMX44 CcW^ OAJC^*^ »*'4^ •» 



AN ILLUSTRATED LETTER 



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en£*y OS*. rvOCt ♦* yvofik , Jbvcfc 4>u££et» Kocm. tU. 





PIERRE ALEXANDRE GOUVY 



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A ZEPPELIN OVER PARIS 

FROM the front it is not a far cry to Paris, 
where, two days after ChampoUion wrote the 
letter just given, Francis Jaques, '03, then associ- 
ated for more than two months with the "American 
Distribution Service'' of the American Clearing 
House in Paris, gave, in a letter to his family, the 
following description of a stirring spectacle. 

Paris, March 22, 1915.^ 

Saturday night, or rather early Sunday morning, the 
Germans treated us to the long-expected spectacle of a 
Zeppelin raid on Paris. They hoped without doubt to 
strike terror to the hearts of the population of Paris. 
. . . They only succeeded in treating the city to a 
most interesting spectacle, and in making everyone 
feel that one had not been waked for nothing. 

Four Zeppelins started for Paris; two were headed 
off, and two flew over the northwestern part of the 
city. I was sleeping peacefully at 10 rue Chapini, in 
my small apartment near the Etoile, when I was 

* From Harvard Alumni Bulletin, May s, 1915. 
28 



FRANCIS JAQUES, '03 29 

awakened by the firing of cannon, about 2 a.m. I 
stumbled out of bed, trying to make out whether I was 
in Dunkerque, or Calais; and finally waked up enough 
to realize that I was in Paris, and that the Zeppelins 
must be coming at last. I went out on my balcony, 
which commands a view over the house-tops in every 
direction, except the southeast, and saw the shells 
from the French guns describing great arcs across the 
sky, passing over my house. I could see nothing in the 
way of Zeppelins, and so went in again and dressed, 
and then took up my position at the corner of my bal- 
cony, where I could see the whole sky. It was a won- 
derful, starry, cold, clear night. Search-lights were 
playing about the heavens in every direction searching 
the skies, and below in the streets I could hear the 
" pompiers " in their automobiles, rushing through the 
city, warning people by their " honk-honk," and their 
bugle calls of " garde a vous " to seek refuge in the 
cellars. It was good advice; butParis wasout toseea 
Zeppelin, and the balconies had as many people as the 
cellars. 

As I was watching a great beam of light to the north- 
west playing up and down, I suddenly saw something 
bright, like a white moth, shine out in the path of 
light; the search-Hght swept up again, and there it was 
like a long, white cigar in the sky. At last I was look- 



30 A ZEPPELIN OVER PARIS 

ing at a Zeppelin — Paris had not been waked up in 
vain. I could not have been better placed to see it. 
On it came towards the Etoile, always followed by the 
great search-Hght. It looked like a white Japanese 
lantern, lighted up inside, with the light shining 
through the paper. Of course it carried no lights ; but 
the search-light gave it that effect. The light seemed 
to play along its sides in ripples as on the water. When 
about one thousand yards from where I was, it gradu- 
ally swung round broadside and started off to the east 
over the northern part of the city. 

In the meantime the French cannon were firing 
away at it. Some shells were coming from my left 
near the Bois, others passing over my head from 
behind, and others from the Arc de Triomphe to my 
right. It was a wonderful sight, as the shells — like 
great round red balls of fire — described their arcs 
against the starry sky. I could follow each shell, and 
involuntarily, I found myself saying " Pas assez 
loin," '' Trop a gauche," as though I were at some 
kind of a tremendous big game-hunt. At all the bal- 
conies, I could hear the same remarks, as each one 
followed the course of each shell with passionate 
interest. I could distinctly see the two passenger- 
baskets under the balloon part of the Zeppelin. Sud- 
denly, just as the shells began to fall near the Zeppelin, 



FRANCIS JAQUES, '03 31 

it disappeared out of the beam of light, and that was 
the last I saw of it, while over the city we could dis- 
tinctly hear the roar of the motors, like a train of cars 
in the distance. 

About 5 A.M. the " pompiers " went about to let 
people know that all the Zeppelins had gone off. I am 
sorry that they did not bring at least one of them down 
to earth to put with the other trophies at the Inva- 
lides. Of course, the shots fired at them while there 
over the city were more to drive them off, than to bring 
them down, as it would have been dangerous to have 
brought down a " 160 metres'^ Zeppelin on the roofs. 



AT THE AMERICAN AMBULANCE 
HOSPITAL 

IN the spring of 191 5 an opportunity was pre- 
sented to the Harvard Medical School to provide 
a Surgical Unit for a three months^ term of service 
at the American Ambulance Hospital in Paris. One 
American medical school, that of the Western Re- 
serve University in Cleveland, was represented 
there by such a unit, from January to April, under 
Dr. George W. Crile. Units from other schools 
were to follow. The University had no free funds 
available for a purpose so remote from the usual 
objects of expenditure. Through the generosity of 
Mr. William Lindsey, of Boston, not a graduate of 
Harvard, who placed the sum of $10,000 at the dis- 
posal of the Corporation for the cost of this humane 
service, the University was enabled to undertake it. 
In March a well-equipped Unit of surgeons and 
nurses, with Dr. Harvey Cushing, Moseley Pro- 
fessor of Surgery, as surgeon-in-chief, and Dr. 
Robert B. Greenough, Assistant Professor of Sur- 



ROBERT B. GREENOUGH, '92 33 

gery, as executive officer, set sail for France. Two 
letters from Dr. Greenough, some passages from 
the diary kept by Dr. Gushing during his term of 
service, and a passage from a letter of Dr. George 
Benet, reveal something of the circumstances and 
value of the work in which this Unit was engaged. 

Paris, April 8, 191 5.^' 
I HAVE been waiting until we should get a little organ- 
ized to write to you and report on our journey and 
arrival here. We came through with very Httle diffi- 
culty, and reached Paris on the morning of the ist of 
April. The only misfortune we had at all was that 
some of our personal baggage was left behind in Spain 
and has not yet reached us, but we are still hopeful. 
The crossing was comfortable and interesting, but we 
saw nothing exciting until we were held up by a 
torpedo boat off Gibraltar. 

We came at once to the Hospital on reaching Paris 
and took over the University Service of one hundred 
and sixty-two beds, which at that time contained one 
hundred and sixty patients. 

The Cleveland people had all gone but one, as they 
had to get a steamer at Liverpool on the 31st. We 
have four nurses and five house officers living in the 
^ From Harvard Alumni BuUetin, April 28, 1915. 



34 AMERICAN AMBULANCE HOSPITAL 

Hospital; the rest of us are in a pension in Passy, 
about twenty minutes' walk. We are very comfort- 
ably installed in what under ordinary conditions is a 
girls' school. We have the house to ourselves, an Amer- 
ican lady and her French husband take very good care 
of us, and we feel that we have fallen on our feet. 

I am in charge of the General Service, and Dr. Cush- 
ing is taking on the nerve cases which are quite numer- 
ous, I should say thirty or thirty-five at present, 
although not many of them are immediately operable. 
Dr. Osgood, who, as you know, specializes in ortho- 
pedics, has found a great many cases which he is 
interested to work over, and the rest of us have our 
hands full with the regular work. 

The shipment of supplies which left Boston the week 
of March 7 began to arrive in Paris yesterday, so that 
we expect to receive dressings regularly from now on. 
We had to buy a certain number of instruments and 
special apparatus, white hospital clothes, and labora- 
tory outfit. We have not yet got our anaesthesia appa- 
ratus working, but things are progressing. Everyone 
has been very cordial to us, and they seem ready to do 
anything we ask to make us comfortable. 

The experience is extraordinarily interesting, and I 
feel that it has been worth while to come over for what 
we have already had. . . . 



ROBERT B. GREENOUGH, '92 35 

Strong leaves us Saturday or Monday and we shall 
miss him sorely. He has helped us to get the labora- 
tory equipped, and Benet and Rogers will carry on the 
work under his general outKne; but I wish we could 
have kept him longer, although the work he goes to in 
Serbia is of infinitely greater importance; he is appar- 
ently to have charge of the whole commission which 
includes a large group of EngHsh and French medical 
men, in addition to the men from home. . . . 
Sincerely yours, 

Robert B. Greenough. 

FROM DR. CUSHING'S DIARY 

Saturday, April 24, 1915.^ 
La Chapelle 
Some time since, I followed for you as well as I could, 
the blesses from the Posle de Secours to the Gare Regu- 
lalrice, and this afternoon in response to a call to the 
Ambulance for all of our many cars, I went with them 
to La Chapelle, the present Paris distributing station. 

It was very funny — our start. We had been at 
work all the morning, and about 1.30 1 learned by mere 
chance from Dr. Gros that there was such a call, and 
expressed a desire to go down with the Ambulance 

^ From Harvard Alumni Bulletin, May 26, 1915. 



36 AMERICAN AMBULANCE HOSPITAL 

drivers, and he said I might go in his motor, which 
would be better, but that we must leave about 2.00 — 
the train was due at 2.30 — and, moreover, that I had 
better stop at our lodgings and put on my uniform, for 
most of us have provided ourselves with the Hospital 
khaki uniforms which they like to have us wear more 
than we do. There was room for another, so B — 's 
eager face left no question as to who should go. We 
had lunch, learning there that Gros had been detained 
so that we were to go in a militarized car with a Mr. 
Lemoyn instead. 

Well, by this time B — had secured an excited per- 
mission from O — to borrow his uniform, and we left 
for 163 bis Ave. V. H. B — dashed in, unlocking the 
gate and front door as though the house were afire — 
found Mrs. — and Miss H — quietly playing duets 
on the piano, breathlessly commandeered Dr. O — 's 
uniform, for they were waiting for us in a motor and 
we were due at the station at 2.30, and were going to 
Neuve Chapelle, and there was no time to lose. Well, 
there was much scurrying, for the ladies thought at the 
very least that we had been summoned to the line to 
operate upon some generalissimo, and B — himself, at 
this stage, had a very confused idea of what and where 
La Chapelle was. He got into — 's uniform by magic, 
over-large and over-long as it was, and was ready by 



HARVEY GUSHING, M.D., '95 37 

the time I could get on my ambulance overcoat and 
put on some heavy boots, for it's still raw and wet here- 
abouts. And so we sallied out, but before we had gone 
a block, off flew B — 's cap, which, after its rescue, was 
strapped under his chin, and without further incident 
we reached the station, way across Paris at the north- 
east edge of the city. 

Red Gross ambulances of every pattern, and from 
a great many hospitals, were being picked up from all 
sides as we neared our destination — a rather unusual 
sight here at mid-day, as the authorities do not like to 
have the recent wounded going through the street by 
day even though it be in closed cars, and the larger 
number of our admissions as a matter of fact occur in 
the late hours or at night. 

It was a very impressive sight. A large, high build- 
ing, once a freight-shed, I presume, possibly two hun- 
dred and fifty feet long, has been transformed for the 
present purpose, and the train runs in on a single track 
behind a curtained-off side of the building — cur- 
tained off by a heavy black, huge canvas curtain, which 
opens at one place through which the wounded suc- 
cessively come — first the petits blesses, on foot, then 
the men in chairs, then the grands blesses, on stretchers. 

The impressive thing about it is that it is all so quiet 
— people talk in low voices — there is no hurry, no 



SS AMERICAN AMBULANCE HOSPITAL 

shouting, no gesticulating, no giving of directions — 
nothing Latin about it whatsoever. And the line of 
men, tired, grimy, muddy, stolid, uncomplaining, 
bloody; it would make you weep. Through the open- 
ing in the curtain through which you could see one of 
the cars of the train, they slowly emerged, one by one, 
cast a dull look around, saw where they were to 
go — and then doggedly went, one after the other, each 
hanging on to his little bundle of possessions; many of 
them Arabs, though for the most part downright 
French t3^es. Those with legs to walk on had heads 
or bodies or arms in bandages or slings, to hurriedly 
apply which day before yesterday uniforms and sleeves 
had been ruthlessly slit open. Not a murmur — not a 
grunt — limping, shuffling, hobbling — in all kinds of 
bedraggled uniforms — whether the new grey-blue 
ones, or the old dark blue and red-trowsered ones — 
home troops or African Zouaves, and occasionally a 
marine; for they too have been in the trenches of late. 
The procession wound directly by us, for the Ameri- 
can Ambulance drivers are privileged to go into this 
part of the shed, owing to their known willingness to 
lend a hand. They were sitting in a quiet group, evi- 
dently moved, though many of them had been through 
the Marne days when cattle trains would come in with 
wounded on straw, without food or water for two or 



HARVEY GUSHING, M.D., '95 39 

more days — stinking and gangrenous. Things of 
course are very different now, and here at La Chapelle 
where Dr. Quenu, of Hopital Cochin reputation, has 
finally gotten a very perfect system arranged, out of 
the demoralization of those days when any system 
would have broken down. 

It has been only two days since these fellows were 
hit, and many of them, regarded as sitting cases, have 
stuck it out and thought they could walk off the train; 
but not all could. One poor boy collapsed before us, 
and they put him on a stretcher and took him to the 
emergency booth. Others had to be helped, as they 
walked on between the two rows of booths to the 
farther end of the building, where were two large 
squares of benches, arranged in a double row about an 
open perforated iron brazier in which a warm charcoal 
fire was glowing; for as I've said, it's a cold, raw, and 
drizzly afternoon. There was a separate table for the 
slightly wounded officers, of whom there were some six 
or eight. 

The wounded all have their tags dangling from a 
button somewhere — a tag from the Poste de secours, 
another from the Ambulance de premiere ligne, and 
possibly one or two more, indicating where they have 
been stopped for a dressing — and in addition, on the 
train, to save trouble, each has been chalked some- 



40 AMERICAN AMBULANCE HOSPITAL 

where on his coat with a big B (blesse) or M (malade) 
so that they can be sorted readily. The booths of 
which I have spoken and into which the stretcher cases 
are distributed are merely little frame — perhaps card- 
board — houses, five or seven in all, occupying the 
farther half of the building. Each has a different color 
— red, green, yellow, grey, brown. 

It was soon whispered about that this lot had come 
from Ypres, and that they had all suffered greatly from 
some German gaz asphyxiant, but I hardly believed the 
tale, or thought I had misunderstood, until this even- 
ing's communique bears it out. Many of them were 
coughing, but then most of the wounded still come in 
with a bronchitis. We have heard rumors for some 
days of a movement of German troops in the direction 
of Ypres, and this attack is apparently the result — an 
attack against a weak spot at the junction of the Eng- 
lish left and the Franco-Belgian lines, as I understood 
it — hence these French wounded from the English 
section. But this will clear up tomorrow. 

The Httle houses of varied colors were all very neat 
in appearance, and were surrounded by palms and 
green things, so that the place was quite attractive, and 
by the time the wounded were all out, many Red Cross 
nurses were giving them hot soup and other things, 
ending up with the inevitable cigarette. The men were 



HARVEY GUSHING, M.D., ^95 41 

quiet, immovable, sitting where and how they first 
slumped down on their benches. No conversation — 
just a stunned acceptance of the kindly efforts to 
comfort them. 

Meanwhile Quenu and his assistants were going 
about listing the men and distributing them as they 
saw fit among the hospitals which had indicated the 
space at their disposal. Our drivers had handed in the 
number of their cars and the number of patients th^ 
Ambulance Hospital could take — possibly fifty, I'm 
not quite sure — and we finally went away with per- 
haps twenty — a large proportion of the two hundred 
and fifty who came in, as a matter of fact. 

I looked over the hst of hospitals posted on the wall 
with some amazement — they were grouped under the 
following heads : 

1. Hopitaux Militaires, e. g., Val de Gr^ce, etc.; 4 
in all, with their dependencies. 

2. Hopitaux Complementaires for each of above 4, 
as at the Grand Palais, etc. 

3. Hopitaux Auxiliaires de la Croix Rouge; 105 
in all, de la Societe de Secours aux blesses militaires. 

4. Hopitaux de V Union des Femmes de France; 86 
in all. 

5. Hopitaux de V Association des Dames Franqaises; 
99 in all. 



42 AMERICAN AMBULANCE HOSPITAL 

6. Hopitaux Independants; The English Hospital, 
Rue de Villiers, L'Ambulance Americaine at Neuilly. 

7. Hopitaux et Hospices Civils; 25 of the Assistance 
Publique, i. e., the Civic hospitals and 30 of the 
environmental towns. 

8. Convalescents; 10 as at the Ecole Militaire, etc. 

9. Etablissements de Voeuvre d'assistance aux con- 
valescents militaires, etc. 

10. A new list of 25 additional hospitals recently 
added. 

The numbers ran up to one thousand and fourteen, 
though this is really more than they represent, as the 
individual groups begin their enumeration with one 
hundreds. But there must be at least four hundred to 
five hundred. 

Quenu, though busy, was very polite — they all are 
— and pretended he knew me, and asked if I would 
like to see the room where the petils pansements were 
being made — which I did and found a chance not only 
to lend a hand myself, but to call on B — and some of 
the Ambulance drivers. Among the several who had 
been singled out as needing immediate dressings, 
because of pain or dislodged bandages, or recent bleed- 
ing, was the poor boy we had seen collapse as he walked 
out of the train. He had a high fever and a trifling 
bandage on his badly fractured arm. This was enough, 



HARVEY GUSHING, M.D., '95 43 

but when the young doctor cut off his six layers of 
clothing, there was an undressed chest wound in his 
right pectoral region, and we sat him up and found the 
wound of exit near the scapula in his back — at which 
the boy said, '' Cesl bon, je guerirai.^' He was in our 
lot, and I saw him landed later at Neuilly spitting 
blood. 

The evacuation was very orderly and quiet — the 
drivers got their slips at the bureau, and the color of the 
houses where they would find their man, and each 
answered to his name when it was called out, and was 
carried away to the waiting ambulance and slid in — 
three in each Ford car for the couche patients — men 
on their faces or their backs, some propped up on pil- 
lows and knapsacks — any position to find a spot to 
lie on that didn't hurt — but not a complaint or a 
groan. 

When we got back to the Ambulance the air was full 
of tales of the asphyxiating gas which the Germans 
turned loose on the men Thursday — but it was diffi- 
cult to get a straight story. A huge, rolling, low-lying 
greenish cloud of smoke with yellowish top, began to 
roll down on them from the German trenches, fanned 
by a steady easterly wind. At the same time there was 
a terrific, heavy bombardment. The smoke was suf- 
focating and smelled to one like ether and sulphur, 



44 AMERICAN AMBULANCE HOSPITAL 

to another like a sulphur match times one thousand — 
to still another like burning rosin. One man said that 
there were about one thousand Zouaves of the Batail- 
lon d'Afrique in the lines, and only sixty got back — 
either suffocated or shot as they clambered out of the 
trenches to escape. Another of the men was " au 
repos " 5 km. away, and he says he could smell the gas 
there. He, with his fellows, was among those of the 
reserves who were called on to support the line, but by 
the time they got up, the Germans were across the 
canal, having effectively blown up their smudge. They 
seem to have been driven out later, or at least these 
men thought they had been. We'll have to await the 
official communiques, and perhaps not know even then. 
In any event, there's the devil's work going on around 
Ypres, and the heralded " spring drive " seems to have 
been initiated by the Germans. 

We got back in time to see the men brought in, and 
when I finally got up to our operating room — lo and 
behold — there was B — , getting his photograph taken, 
his cap still strapped down, and filling — 's uniform 
as best he could. 



ROBERT B. GREENOUGH, '92 45 



ANOTHER LETTER FROM DR. GREENOUGH 1 

The American Hospital of Paris, 

Section for the Wounded, 

May 22, 1915. 

On reaching Paris, April ist, the Harvard Unit took 
over a service of one hundred and sixty-two beds in the 
American Ambulance. Since that time, other beds 
have been added to the service until we now have 
something over one hundred and ninety beds. For a 
week or so after we first came, not all the beds were 
filled, but for the last three weeks we have had practi- 
cally no empty beds. Thirty-three cases in twenty- 
four hours is the largest number of admissions we have 
had, and sixteen major operative cases has been our 
heaviest operative day. 

The virulent infections with gas-producing organ- 
isms, of which there were a number of cases early in 
April, have become less common as the season ad- 
vanced and warm and dryer weather followed the cold 
and rainy period of the early spring. Most of our 
cases reach us on the second or third day after injury. 
The wounds are usually infected when we get them. 
In April almost every wound showed gas-bacilli, on 

^ From Harvard Alumni Bulletin, June 23, 1915. 



46 AMERICAN AMBULANCE HOSPITAL 

culture. In May the proportion of such cases has 
fallen off materially. At present the ordinary pus- 
producing organisms are the ones most commonly 
found in cultures of fresh wounds. Almost every 
wound contains more or less of the clothing of the sol- 
dier, carried in by the missile, but the wounds pro- 
duced by shell fragments are more frequently contami- 
nated in this way than the bullet wounds. The bullet 
wounds are the most common injuries, followed closely 
by wounds from shell fragments. Shrapnel injuries are 
much less common. 

Soldiers severely wounded in head, spine, or abdo- 
men, are not easily transportable, and therefore do not 
reach the base hospitals like this one. Most of our cases 
are penetrating or perforating wounds of the soft parts, 
with or without bone injuries. The bone cases are 
among the worst with which we have to deal. A septic 
compound fracture of such long bones as the humerus 
or the femur is a very difficult case to handle. In 
almost every case the bone is shattered into many little 
pieces, and these bone fragments are driven into the 
tissues in every direction and act like foreign bodies, to 
prevent healing until they are removed. We have been 
greatly helped in our work on these cases by plaster 
and metal splints devised for each individual case by 
Dr. Osgood. 



ROBERT B. GREENOUGH, '92 47 

Up to May 20th, including the cases we took over 
when we first came, we have had three hundred and 
seventy cases on our service. We have had three 
deaths, (i) brain abscess and meningitis, (2) perfora- 
tions of the lung and hemorrhage, and (3) diffuse per- 
forative peritonitis; the last case died ten minutes 
after entrance to the hospital. . . . 

Among the most interesting operations have been 
cerebral cases upon which Dr. Gushing operated. In 
two of these cases he was able to remove shell frag- 
ments from the brain, by use of the electro-magnet. 
Dr. Gushing had also two cases of peripheral nerve 
injury, one a plastic upon the facial nerve, and another 
upon the muscuio-spiral. 

Dr. Vincent has had one case for transfusion at this 
hospital, and demonstrated his method of performing 
this operation; also at Dr. GarreFs Hospital in Gom- 
piegne. There have been other cases in this hospital 
on other services where Dr. Vincent's apparatus has 
been used. Dr. Osgood has had a number of ortho- 
pedic cases for operation, lengthening tendons, and so 
on, and has contributed very materially to the success 
of the general service by devising and applying appara- 
tus for retaining the position of difficult compound 
fractures. On the general service, we have had a num- 
ber of bone cases for operation, plating fractures of the 



48 AMERICAN AMBULANCE HOSPITAL 

femur, tibia and jaw, and a plastic on a jaw with the 
insertion of a bone graft from a rib. We have been 
very fortunate so far in that we have had no cases that 
required amputation on our service, and no cases of 
secondary hemorrhage have occurred, although both 
conditions are ordinarily to be expected in a service 
such as this. 

The moral and physical condition of the French 
soldiers has made a very favorable impression upon all 
of us. Some of the wounded reach us in a state of very 
great physical and mental depression. This is not 
unnatural under the circumstances, in spite of the very 
excellent system of hospital trains which has been 
established by the French Government for the trans- 
port of wounded from the evacuation hospitals to the 
base hospitals. These trains are well equipped for 
ambulatory and stretcher cases, and are used exclu- 
sively for this service; they arrive in Paris at the 
freight station at La Chapelle, as a rule, sometime in the 
night. The station has been equipped with portable 
houses erected on the platform, and a competent staff 
of orderlies, surgeons and nurses is on hand to take the 
wounded from the train, feed them, do emergency 
dressings, and attend to their distribution among the 
many miHtary hospitals in and about Paris. The dis- 
tribution of these cases is accomplished in a very 



ROBERT B. GREENOUGH, '92 49 

orderly manner, and the whole system of handling the 
wounded even under stress is working well. We were 
told that two thousand wounded were brought to Paris 
by these trains in one twenty-four hour period after 
the fighting at Ypres. 

There are many Red Cross Hospitals in operation in 
Paris, beside the American Ambulance, although that 
is the largest one outside of the regular French Mili- 
tary Hospitals. The Russians and the Japanese have 
each a hospital in Paris, and the English have a large 
hospital at Versailles. Most of the EngHsh wounded, 
however, are now evacuated to the Channel ports and 
carried immediately to England. We have about eight 
English in the American Ambulance, and almost all are 
cases that have been in the hospital for a long time. 
An American from the Foreign Legion was brought to 
the hospital the other day. The vast majority of our 
cases, however, are French, with a few Turcos and 
Sengalese. 

The attitude of the French Medical Officers, and of 
the Government, toward the American Ambulance is 
most cordial, and its work is held in high esteem by the 
soldiers as well as by the public. 



50 AMERICAN AMBULANCE HOSPITAL 

FROM GEORGE BENET, M.D. '13 

Another letter from a member of the Harvard 
Unit at the American Ambulance Hospital, George 
Benet, M,D. '13 (Univ. of Va. '06), illustrates 
points not touched upon by Dr. Greenough and 
Dr. Gushing. A portion of it follows : 

The wards are beautifully kept and clean: there are, 
for instance, '' The New York Ward," '' The Boston 
Ward," " The Philadelphia Ward," " The Dartmouth 
College Ward," etc. The nursing is very well done. 
Each ward is presided over by a graduate nurse, and I 
found many old friends, viz. : Miss Jean Balsilly, who 
was my senior nurse at Roosevelt, in New York, and 
Miss Cotter from Boston, etc. Working under these 
heads are the '' auxiliaries," and they are as interesting 
a lot as I know of, made up of actresses, teachers, 
mothers of ^' enfants " at the front, society girls from 
London, Paris, New York, Washington, Boston, etc. 
For instance. Secretary McAdoo's daughter is one of 
the lot. There are several titles here as well. They 
have to do the most menial, and to be frank, disgusting 
things, but they do it cheerfully and willingly, and are 
very largely responsible for the success and splendid 
spirit of the place. Imagine a well-known actress 



GEORGE BENET, M.D., '13 51 

scrubbing a floor ! They are terribly distracting, I am 
free to state. 

As to the surgeons, they are, with one exception, 
Americans who have volunteered. Dr. Crile and 
party have just left. Each has his own staff. The 
orderlies are school boys, lawyers, teachers, etc. In 
one ward we have a well-known Parisian artist and a 
genuine Russian count, who salaams to us Hke a true 
EK. Quite embarrassing ! I don't ask him to run down 
to the laboratory for this and that — not with a beard 
like that! Not me. We have over one hundred am- 
bulances, and some thirty cars for work around the 
city. Each car is a gift and only accepted if '' en- 
dowed " — gasoline, repairs, etc. These are manned 
by youngsters and adventurers picked up from any- 
where. A good many Harvard and Yale students are 
in the lot. Very natty in their khaki and puttees. The 
field ambulances are as follows — 80 Fords, 8 Sun- 
beams (English), a Pierce-Arrow (gift of George 
Denny's father-in-law, and said to be the finest ambu- 
lance on the continent. His brother-in-law runs it). 
There are a dozen nondescript things — converted 
taxis, etc. Of the lot, the Fords are by far the best. 
For field work they leave the Pierce-Arrow floundering 
like a whale ashore. They are the wonder of the 
French. Each Ford carries three wounded men be- 



52 AMERICAN AMBULANCE HOSPITAL 

sides the driver and a helper. The Pierce- Arrow carries 
the same number, and costs ten times as much. 

Before I forget, I want to put in a word for the Boy 
Scouts. Without them, I think the war would stop. 
You see them everywhere. Running elevators, acting 
as orderlies, telephone exchanges — and they also carry 
despatches at the front. One young Belgian of twelve 
was decorated with the coveted MiHtary Cross by 
King Albert for having on four occasions slipped 
through the German lines with despatches. He also 
took part in every battle during the invasion of Bel- 
gium. I saw his photo — just a spindle-legged little 
fellow. I'll never laugh at Boy Scouts again. Of 
course, they would rather do it than go to school, but 
at the same time I don't want to tackle the German 
lines. 

Now as to the wounded, or blesses. I hardly know 
where to begin. They are the most amazing patients 
I have ever seen, accepting everything as a matter of 
course. They go into their fourth or fifth operation 
with nothing more than the inevitable salute, and 
" Ouiy Monsieur, merci." Never a grumble or com- 
plaint — always ready for whatever is coming to them. 
And God knows they have had their share before the 
scalpel starts. For the most part the wounds are head 
and face and foot wounds, as most of our men come 



GEORGE BENET, M.D., '13 53 

from the trenches. Of course there are dozens of fright- 
ful compound fractures, due to falling buildings and 
Lord knows what, but I was surprised at the frequency 
of face wounds. These are explained by the fact that 
one can't help peeping out now and then, and also the 
head is more exposed to shrapnel. The foot wounds 
are due to frost bite (and infection following) and to 
the hand grenades thrown into the trenches. These 
cause frightful wounds — too rotten to write about — 
but imagine a lump of lyddite, or whatever it is, the 
size of a tennis ball going off between your feet. As 
usual, there is a funny side to it, for it seems the Ger- 
mans have never learned to use the grenades properly, 
being afraid to cut their fuses short enough, so the 
French pick 'em up and throw them back! (Ticklish 
work 1) At least this is our side of the story. Some of 
them were cut short enough. I can testify to that! 

The shrapnel wounds simply defy description. Here 
you see a boy of eighteen with his lower jaw, floor of 
mouth, and half his tongue blown away. He lives, but 
for what ? Another young man of twenty-four with 
both legs gone at the thighs, and his right arm crippled 
for life. And of course the pitiful blind ! They, to me, 
are the worst. And the frightful and almost inevitable 
infections. You see, the common history is this: " Shot 
at 3 A.M., March 28. Very cold night. Raining. Fell 



54 AMERICAN AMBULANCE HOSPITAL 

in mud and not found until 2 p.m. the next day. No 
bath for three months. Underwear changed seven 
weeks ago." For you can't be fastidious in the 
trenches; but if you are a Frenchman you are a fight- 
ing man that the world can't beat. When asked what 
he did until found, the aforementioned chap said: 
" Smoked my peep." He had the bone of his thigh 
sticking out in the mud and smoked his " peep." One 
chap told a nurse today that he saw his captain killed 
(by shell) and his head blown ofif. When he ran to him 
his " trachea said squeak — squeak." I have no 
doubt it did; but imagine scenes Hke that to think 
about the rest of your life. 



AT A FRENCH HOSPITAL NEAR 
THE LINE 

DR. BENET'S service at the American Ambu- 
lance Hospital in Paris continued through the 
three months' term of the Harvard Unit. Again he 
served in France, with the rank of Captain, in the 
Second Harvard Unit, at the 2 2d General Hospital 
of the British Expeditionary Force. But after his 
first term of service in Paris he spent much of July 
and August, 191 5, with Captain Stanley, of the 
Royal Army Medical Corps in a French Hospital, 
three miles from the firing line, at Longeuil Annel, 
in a chateau belonging to Mrs. Chauncey M. 
Depew of New York. The following letter, written 
in July, 1 91 5, deals with his experiences there. 

This letter will probably take some time to reach you, 
as the mail goes into Paris from here only when a car 
is sent in for supplies. I never know when it is going, 
but will write this and wait patiently. I came out just 
a week ago, and will never regret having done so, as I 
think I will have a better chance here than any place 

ss 



56 AT A FRENCH HOSPITAL 

I have seen. As I wrote you, the hospital is in the 
chateau of Mrs. C. M. Depew of New York, and in- 
cidentally, she is a very delightful person. The chat- 
eau is very old, dating back to before Louis XIV, and 
was at one time a favorite spot of Napoleon's. It is 
situated in a very large and beautiful park with acres 
of lawn, and immediately behind the house proper is 
one of the most wonderful bits of forest I ever saw. 
The house is built around three sides of a square, facing 
the stables and garage, where the ambulances are now 
kept — in addition to two Fords — of course, the " in- 
evitable Ford '' — and the machinery for lighting, etc. 
My own quarters are excellent, with even American 
plumbing in the bathroom. A private bath in France 
is a seven days' wonder! 

We have fifty-six beds, for blesses, and an excellently 
equipped operating room, under the charge of a Pres- 
byterian Hospital graduate of New York, whom I 
remember quite well when working there in 191 2. Also 
we have a small, but practical X-ray apparatus, which 
is indispensable in localizing bits of shell. There are 
two wards for the wounded, and three rooms for offi- 
cers. One of these wards is the old music room, and 
I am glad to say I found a large and very fine pipe- 
organ still in place, which adds quite a bit to the 
evenings. 



GEORGE BENET, M.D., '13 57 

The " staff " consists of Dr. Stanley and myself. He 
is a very young English surgeon (F.R.C.S., incident- 
ally), and an exceptionally good man. He has been 
here for eight months, and has accomplished a great 
deal, I think, when you consider the difficulties of 
working without adequate assistance and facilities. 
Our operating room " team " now consists of Miss 
Balen, the Presbyterian Hospital nurse, who gives the 
anaesthetics, Dr. Stanley and myself at the table, and 
" Pierre," a soldier detailed from the ranks to help us 
here. Owing to our position here nearer the Hues, we 
get a type of case never seen in Paris, or in any of the 
larger Base Hospitals. Also our cases are in almost 
every instance " clean," which is the exception in the 
larger hospitals farther back. For instance, the last 
two men admitted had been wounded only one hour 
and a half. This makes the work far more satisfactory 
and the results better. Lately we have been compara- 
tively quiet, as activities along the sector of the lines 
we drain here have slowed down for some reason. We 
have heard very little firing for the last twenty-four 
hours. In consequence of this '' let-up," we have had 
a deluge of ofiacers for dinner — and what-not — for 
several days. Yesterday Lieutenant Bardet, son of 
General Bardet, and Lieutenant Naxon rode over for 
a game of tennis, and defeated Stanley and myself 



58 AT A FRENCH HOSPITAL 

hopelessly. They have been on active service in this 
region for ten months, and are not complaining of the 
recent inactivities. They returned to the lines at ten 
o'clock. . . . 

As to our position here: We are just across the Oise 
from Ribecourt, and some three miles from the lines. 
If you were here this afternoon, you would never sus- 
pect it, as everything is as quiet as Walhalla on a Sun- 
day. The only ripple today was the appearance of a 
German monoplane that passed over us at seven 
o'clock this morning. Two days ago there was a 
pretty steady fight going on a few kilometres up the 
river, to judge from the guns, and in the night I heard 
a furious fusillade of rifle fire over beyond Ribecourt. 
This lasted a half hour, but as we received no call I 
don't think much damage was done. Yesterday after- 
noon, while playing tennis we heard the French 
" 75's " going for twenty minutes, but today all is as 
peaceful as the aforementioned Walhalla. However, 
we manage to keep busy, as in addition to the wounded 
we have had to assume the care of the village and of 
Compiegne, as of course every available surgeon is 
away " somewhere in France." As examples of this 
type of " war surgery," we have a little girl with a bad 
mastoid that Stanley operated on, just before I came 
up here; and an appendix or two. We are expecting 



GEORGE BENET, M.D., '13 59 

an old lady in tomorrow, with what promises to be gall 
stones, so we have work anyhow. . . . 

I think I wrote you of Maxim Gorky's son, who was 
a patient at the American Ambulance in Paris, and 
had his right arm amputated some six weeks ago. I am 
enclosing a letter I received from him last week, which 
I received with his photograph. I am going to ask you 
to keep it for me, as I want it. He wrote this, mind 
you, with his left hand, and only a few weeks after his 
operation. He tried to return to the front, but was 
refused because of his amputation. I often wonder if 
I am half as good a man as these soldiers one comes 
in contact with here. I doubt it. 

Tell A E that this chateau where I am liv- 
ing was used by his friend von Kluck as headquarters, 
on his advance into France, and, race out, of France, 
and that but for a picture of Chauncey Depew on the 
table in the hall, he would have burned the place 
down. . . . 

I have not written anything for a day, since the last 
paragraph, and since then I had occasion to witness a 
very interesting sight. Late yesterday afternoon a 
French biplane passed over us going toward the Ger- 
man lines to reconnoitre. About a mile below here, 
and at a height of about a mile, the Germans began to 
shell the machine. Apparently it made no difference 



6o AT A FRENCH HOSPITAL 

whatsoever to the observer, as he kept right on his 
course. While looking at him, I counted eighteen 
shells, all breaking either directly above him or directly 
beneath — but missing by a wide margin. First I could 
hear the deep rumble of the gun, and then in an instant 
see the black or light gray puff of smoke, followed in a 
few seconds by the sound of the explosion. I lay on 
my back on the lawn with a pair of binoculars watching 
the performance, until the biplane passed out of sight. 
They seem quite used to such sights here, as I was the 
entire audience. An old man cutting the lawn, paid 
no attention whatever. It was very interesting to a 
neophyte Uke myself. . . . 



THE WORK IN SERBIA 

ONE of the Harvard physicians attached to the 
American Ambulance Hospital Unit when it 
left Boston was Dr. Richard P. Strong, Professor of 
Tropical Medicine in the Harvard Medical School. 
The Unit had not been long in Paris when he was 
detached from service there to direct the work of 
combatting the plague of typhus in Serbia. Other 
Harvard physcians joined him in this all-import- 
ant enterprise. One of the them was Dr. George C. 
Shattuck, 'oi (m.d. '05), a grandson of Dr. George 
C. Shattuck, '31, a pioneer investigator of typhus 
in Europe as long ago as 1838. A letter from the 
younger Shattuck, written from Serbia in May of 
191 5, is supplemented here by an article he con- 
tributed to the Harvard Graduates^ Magazine. Dr. 
Strong's written and spoken words have informed 
many Americans regarding the work he accom- 
plished. The reports of a younger colleague, writ- 
ten on the spot and soon after his return from the 
scene of the Commission's work, contribute to- 
wards a completion of the inspiring record. 

61 



62 THE WORK IN SERBIA 

LADY PAGET HOSPITAL i 

Skoplje (Uskub), Serbia, May ii. 

I WANT you to know that I am very well and am enjoy- 
ing myself greatly here. The hospital is about a mile 
and a half from the town, in the midst of a green, 
unf enced valley, with low mountains to the north and 
south, and a chain of snow peaks behind the hills to the 
southwest. The hills are many-colored, partly culti- 
vated, partly grazing land. The weather is beautiful, 
with bright sunshine and a soft mist on the hills. When 
I look out in the morning, I see the Austrian prisoners 
in their blue-gray uniforms doing the morning's work 
outside. Sometimes a clear, loud song rings out and 
stops abruptly. It is the marching song of a company of 
Serbians out for a hike across the rolling downs. There 
is no other word, because we have no country like it. 
At the edge of the slope where the land falls off sharply 
to the river, a herd of cattle are grazing, watched by a 
shaggy leader. 

We are living in the end of one of the hospital build- 
ings, of which there are two, structures of three stories 
each, built for barracks by the Turks. Two hundred 
yards to the north, facing them, is a long row of one- 
story buildings, used now for storage and other pur- 
^ From Harvard Alumni Bulletin, June 9, 1915. 



GEORGE C. SHATTUCK, 'oi 63 

poses. They were cavalry barracks. In the centre of 
these are the offices and the laboratories, and behind 
them, forming a quadrangle, are four long buildings 
with single story and basement. Prisoners who act as 
orderHes, etc., live in the basement, and above them, 
in each building, are two wards of forty-five beds each. 
Sellards [Associate in Tropical Medicine at the Har- 
vard Medical School] and I have charge of two such 
wards. There are two good graduate nurses, or sisters, 
on duty in each of them, and they are helped by some 
of the prisoners. The wards are clean, the care of the 
patients all that can be expected with the small staff, 
and we are beginning to collect data. 

Typhus is one of the most interesting diseases I have 
ever seen, and there are many problems. Most of the 
patients have it, but a few have relapsing fever or 
other things. 

I put on a louse-proof suit every morning, take it off 
before lunch, work in the laboratory until tea time, and 
then dress in another suit and return to the wards. 

Smith, who has charge here now, is a very competent 
London consultant of about my age, I should think. 
He does an enormous amount of work very quietly and 
easily, has charge of two hundred and twenty, or two 
hundred and thirty, beds, and directs the management 
of the hospital. 



64 THE WORK IN SERBIA 

I hope you realize that this is a very safe place to 
work, because the patients are clean before we see 
them. 

RED CROSS WORK IN SERBIA » 

Dr. G. C. Shattuck, 'oi 
I HAVE been asked to write about the work of the 
American Red Cross Sanitary Commission in Serbia, 
and, in particular, to tell something of what was done 
by the Harvard men connected with this Commission. 
It should be understood that no member of the Com- 
mission, except Dr. Strong, knows exactly what was 
done by other members of the Commission, or can form 
a comprehensive idea of the work as a whole. There- 
fore, I shall make a few general statements about the 
work, and then proceed to describe some of the things 
which I saw myself. 

Dr. Strong was the first member of the Commission 
to arrive in Serbia. In April, a few days after his 
arrival, he organized an International Health Commis- 
sion, the orders of which could be promptly enforced in 
all parts of Serbia. The formation of such a Commis- 
sion was extremely important for many reasons, and 
particularly to co-ordinate the work of the Serbian 
authorities, and of the British, the French, the Rus- 
sians, and the Americans, all of whom were repre- 
^ From Harvard Graduates^ Magazine, December, 1915. 



GEORGE C. SHATTUCK, ^oi 65 

sented on the Board. Dr. Strong, as director, travelled 
constantly in order that he might have personal knowl- 
edge of the situation in all parts of Serbia; and he insti- 
tuted sanitary work in Montenegro as well as in Serbia. 

The American Red Cross Sanitary Commission was 
financed jointly by the Red Cross and by the Rocke- 
feller Foundation. A group of ten men, including Drs. 
r. B. Grinnell and A. W. Sellards, of the Harvard 
Medical School, and myself, sailed from New York on 
April 3 and met Dr. Strong in Skoplje, or Uskub, as 
the town was called by the Turks, early in May. 
Meanwhile, Dr. Strong had gathered up several Ameri- 
can doctors in Serbia, and had taken with him Mr. 
C. R. Cross from Paris. Mr. Cross was a member of 
the Class of 1903, and later graduated from the Law 
School. He offered to help in any way that he could. 
He travelled for a time with Dr. Strong, then went to 
Montenegro with Dr. Grinnell, and afterwards re- 
turned to Paris, where he was killed in an automobile 
accident. 1 For nearly a year before his death Mr. Cross 
was in Europe working constantly with energy and 
devotion to duty. 

The first contingent of members of the Commission 
was followed by a second group of twenty or more 
which arrived toward the end of June, and several of 
^ See pp. no, 114. 



66 THE WORK IN SERBIA 

these were Harvard graduates. The Commission 
included men of various attainments. There were 
sanitary engineers, public health physicians, sanitary 
inspectors, many of whom had been trained under 
General Gorgas at Panama, and there were practising 
physicians, and laboratory experts, a bacteriologist, 
and a water examiner. 

Dr. Grinnell was soon sent by Dr. Strong to take 
charge of the work in Montenegro. Dr. Zinsser, of 
Columbia, was to study typhus from the bacteriolo- 
gical point of view, Dr. Sellards was to undertake other 
laboratory work, and it was my privilege to study 
typhus fever from the clinical standpoint. We agreed 
to work together so far as possible, and having found 
in the Paget Hospital in Skoplje a favorable oppor- 
tunity for beginning work without delay, accepted the 
invitation of the British physician in charge to join the 
staff of that hospital. 

The buildings known as the Paget Hospital, or 
" Shesta Reserma Bolnitza " (6th Reserve Hospital), 
were used formerly for the Military Academy, and for 
barracks. They are situated on elevated, rolling 
ground, about a mile from the town of Skoplje, in the 
midst of a most beautiful and fertile valley, bounded to 
north and south by rugged hills, and dominated on the 
west by snow-capped mountains. 



GEORGE C. SHATTUCK, 'oi 67 

I had charge of two wards of forty-five beds each, 
most of them occupied by typhus patients in various 
stages of the disease. Near the hospital were some 
large stables, used as a prison-camp for Austrian sol- 
diers. Nearly all the prisoners had had typhus, and a 
very large proportion had died of it. They were 
allowed to go freely about the hospital grounds, and 
many of them served as orderHes in the wards. Being 
immune to typhus from having had the disease, it was 
not necessary to take precautions to protect them. 

There was a considerable nursing staff of English 
sisters, and a few Serbian women worked in the wards. 
In order to protect themselves from the body louse 
which commonly transmits typhus, the sisters wore a 
one-piece garment of white Hnen, which buttoned across 
the shoulders, and over this a blouse of the same 
material hanging to the knees. The hair was carefully 
covered, the sleeves were held close to the arms by 
elastic bands, and, in order that there should be no 
opening at the ankle, the legs of the garments were 
prolonged into coverings for the feet. Over these the 
sisters wore Turkish slippers or high leather boots, 
according to the weather. I urged the sisters in my 
wards to wear rubber gloves in order to protect their 
wrists more completely, and to wear a strip of gauze 
across the nose and mouth as a mask, because I 



68 THE WORK IN SERBIA 

thought there was danger of contracting typhus 
through the air as a result of the coughing of patients; 
but the gloves were soon discarded as being difficult to 
work in, and the mask as being too hot and uncom- 
fortable. One of the sisters contracted typhus toward 
the end of the epidemic, and I think that she got her 
infection from a very sick patient who coughed a great 
deal, and whose life, I think, she saved by unremitting 
care. She recovered from the typhus, but suffered 
afterwards from distressing nervous symptoms from 
which it is probable that she has not yet fully re- 
covered. We physicians wore cotton trousers with 
feet attached, and rubber boots. The trousers were 
tied around the waist, and the upper part of the body 
was covered with a short tunic, tied below the top of 
the neck. Rubber gloves were then pulled over the 
sleeves of the tunic and fastened in place with elastic 
bands or adhesive plaster. I used a gauze mask for a 
time, but gave it up because the weather was hot and 
the mask slipped into my mouth when I talked. I was 
very careful not to let a patient cough in my face. 

The appointments of the wards were of the simplest 
character. The toilets were managed by the bucket 
system, there being no plumbing. Water for bathing 
and other purposes was heated in sheet-iron wood- 
burning stoves standing outside. When one or two 



GEORGE C. SHATTUCK, 'oi 69 

patients at a time came for admission to a ward, they 
were stripped, clipped, and bathed by the orderlies 
behind a screen on the steps of the pavilion. When 
large numbers of patients had to be admitted, they 
were sent to a wash-house where clipping and bathing 
could be done wholesale. 

Before I had been long at the hospital a trainload of 
patients arrived in Skoplje. Eighty of these were 
assigned to the Paget Hospital and sent out in car- 
riages, each vehicle taking four or five patients. They 
were laid on the grass outside the wash-house, and 
many, exhausted by the journey, required brandy or 
other stimulants before being moved. Many others, 
thin and haggard, but stronger, straggled across the 
grounds to the wards, attired in night-shirt and slippers. 
On that day, forty patients entered my wards — a 
number impossible for me to examine with care. I 
went around the ward feeling the pulses, listening to the 
hearts, and picking out the sicker patients for more par- 
ticular attention. The rest received routine treatment. 

This particular group of patients showed a peculiar 
cast of countenance which I attributed to the fact that 
they had been for several days on a train, probably 
almost uncared-for, with little food, and insufficient 
water. The features were pinched, the skin was dry, 
the brows knitted, and the eyes staring. Like most of 



70 THE WORK IN SERBIA 

the inhabitants of Serbia, they were bronzed by the 
sun, but, in spite of this, there was a bright flush over 
the cheek-bones, a common thing in typhus fever. 
These men showed no emotion and little interest. The 
predominant expression was not that of resignation, 
but of courageous endurance, the most characteristic 
quality in the Serbian when ill, as I have seen him. He 
shows neither fear nor despair, and seldom indulges in 
lamentation. During convalescence he early takes an 
interest in food, and begs to be sent home for " boli- 
vani," that is, furlough. With return of strength he 
shows merriment, geniaHty, and humor. 

The Serbians have been called the Irish of the Bal- 
kans, and one of them had such a genial smile that he 
reminded me of the song about Kelley. In one of the 
other wards there were two patients with relapsing 
fever who were taken sick at the same time, who 
entered together, and who ran an exactly similar 
course of fever. A rivalry sprang up between them, 
and when one had a sudden rise of temperature so high 
that it went off the chart, far from viewing this with 
alarm, he pointed to it with delight. 

After about two months' work at the Paget Hospital, 
Dr. Sellards went to Belgrade to continue his studies 
there, and a few weeks later, there being very little 
typhus at Skoplje, I finished my clinical work, and 



GEORGE C. SHATTUCK, 'oi 71 

went to Belgrade with Dr. Strong. I stayed there for 
a few days at the American Hospital where Dr. Ryan 
is still in charge. 

The hospital stands on a hill at the outskirts of the 
town, and was respected by the Germans who were 
entrenched across the river. The town showed com- 
paratively Httle damage, except along the river front, 
where all buildings, including the barracks, had been 
reduced to ruins. The bridge across the river had been 
wrecked, but at that time the batteries were exchang- 
ing only occasional shots, none of which fell in the 
town. A German aeroplane made almost daily flights 
in the morning over Belgrade, and was always greeted 
by a fusillade of shrapnel which, when it burst, looked 
like powder puffs in the sky. The shots were nearly 
always wide of the mark. 

One morning, however, the German made three 
trips, each time dropping bombs in the town. The 
third time he was met by a French plane which opened 
fire upon him. Almost immediately the German began 
to descend in wide circles, and presently disappeared 
from my sight behind the roof of one of the hospital 
buildings. He must have been wounded, for he sub- 
sequently lost control of his machine, and fell from a 
considerable height into the mud on the bank of the 
river. 



72 THE WORK IN SERBIA 

After leaving Belgrade I went with Dr. Strong to 
Vallievo to inspect the graveyard. There had been 
many Austrian prisoners in ValHevo, and the death- 
rate from typhus among them is said to have reached 
seventy per cent. The dead had been buried in great 
square pits, and insufficiently covered with earth, so 
that the graveyard became offensive to the neighbor- 
hood. The French, who were working in Vallievo, had 
already carried out the necessary measures. 

Dr. Strong then asked me to go to Pristina to super- 
vise sanitary work which was being conducted there by 
members of our Commission. They were living in 
tents in the military reservation, and running a mess 
of their own. 

The hotels in Serbia are so infested with bed-bugs 
that we avoided them whenever possible, and when 
obliged to spend any length of time in a place we fumi- 
gated and cleaned our quarters or else went into camp. 
The work at Pristina consisted in cleaning and dis- 
infection of hospitals, the jail, some large barracks and 
stables used for quartering the soldiers, disinfection of 
clothing, bathing of soldiers and prisoners, building 
sanitary privies, and vaccinating against typhus fever 
and cholera. 

Bathing and disinfection of clothing were carried 
out by means of converted refrigerator cars, into one 



GEORGE C. SHATTUCK, 'oi 73 

of which steam could be turned to sterilize the clothing 
while the men were bathing under shower baths in the 
other. This system was first used in Manchuria by 
Dr. Strong. 

Pristina is not far from Mitravitza, now the tem- 
porary capital. The latter is situated at the end of a 
branch railway near the border of Montenegro. The 
railway leaves the main line at Skoplje and follows a 
branch of the Vardar River through narrow mountain 
passes to the great plain of Cosova, upon which the 
Serbians made their last stand against the Turks in a 
great battle five hundred years ago. Pristina lies at 
the foot of the hills on the northern side of the plain, 
near where the battle took place. The Serbians have 
a very strong sentiment about this region, where every 
hill and piece of ground has for them historic meaning. 
They say that not to have seen Cosovo and the old 
church called Grachanitza, in which every soldier of 
the Serbian army took communion before the great 
battle with the Turks, is not to have seen Serbia at 
all. 

After finishing the work at Pristina arrangements 
were made for some of our men to go to Mitravitza, 
where Dr. Osborn, who had recently received a degree 
in public health at the Harvard Medical School, took 
charge. Other men went with me to Prisren, situated 



74 THE WORK IN SERBIA 

to the south and east near the border of Albania, and 
fifty kilometres from the railway. There we set up our 
cots in a large, vacant room in the barracks near the 
town, and took our meals at a restaurant, where, by 
special arrangement, we obtained an abundance of 
fruit and vegetables, a welcome change after the 
restricted fare of the springtime. 

The work in Prisren was similar to that in Pristina, 
and the authorities, with one exception, gave every 
assistance. The mayor of the town was well educated 
and refined. He had been a professor somewhere 
before entering on official life, and was now working 
enthusiastically to institute modern improvements in 
this old town with its narrow, crooked streets, and its 
jumble of primitive buildings. Before the outbreak of 
the present war he had had profiles drawn of all the 
streets and had made plans for straightening and 
widening the principal thoroughfares. He showed us 
chemical analyses of the water, which came from 
springs on a hill above the town, and wished to know 
which of the several supplies was the best. One of our 
engineers visited the sources, inspected visible con- 
duits, and made arrangements to have maps drawn of 
the distribution of the water from each source. It was 
also arranged that bacteriological tests should be 
made at different points along the distributing lines, 



GEORGE C. SHATTUCK, 'oi 75 

and at the street-fountains where the water was 
delivered, in order to detect pollution. The mayor 
expressed himself as dehghted with these arrangements 
but owing to delays, almost impossible to avoid in 
Serbia, this part of the work was still unfinished when 
the fumigating and vaccinating had been completed. 

Toward the end of August I left Prisren to start for 
home. I shall not soon forget that beautiful morning 
of late August, the soft, fragrant air, the misty plain, 
the wooded hillside, the rugged mountain-range, 
whitened by the first snow of the autumn, and the 
quaint old town with the tall poplar trees around it, 
the white minarets among the red-tiled roofs, and the 
old, gray Turkish citadel above. 

Dr. Strong and Dr. Sellards left Serbia a few days 
after I did, and Dr. Grinnell a month before. Twelve 
members of the Commission remained in Serbia to 
prevent the spread of any outbreak of contagious dis- 
ease that might occur in the coming winter, and to 
complete some of the more extensive engineering 
work. Mr. Stuart, a Harvard engineer, was left in 
charge by Dr. Strong. Most of the others went to 
Russia under the leadership of Dr. Caldwell, to work 
among the German prisoners there. 

Dr. Grinnell had a severe illness on his way home, 
and Dr. Strong narrowly escaped death from a most 



76 THE WORK IN SERBIA 

dangerous form of malaria, which rendered him un- 
conscious in Saloniki just before sailing. It seems 
likely that he got the malaria in Durazzo, where he 
had gone, at the request of Essad Pasha, to advise 
about its prevention. At any rate, he was exposed to 
it there from having lent his mosquito netting to a 
woman in the hotel who hadn't any. No other mem- 
bers of the Commission, so far as I know, incurred any 
serious illness, and most of them were not sick at all. 



WITH THE AMERICAN AMBULANCE 
HOSPITAL MOTORS 

IN June of 1915 John Paulding Brown, ^14, re- 
cently returned from Europe, where he had been 
serving, first with the American Citizens' Relief 
Conmiittee in London, and then with the motor 
corps of the American Ambulance Hospital in 
France and Belgium, was asked by the Harvard 
Alumni Bulletin to give some account of his experi- 
ences. He wrote as follows : ^ 

Harvard has been well represented in France since 
the war began. Aside from the various surgical units 
sent out officially by the University there have been at 
least two score graduates and undergraduates who at 
one time or another during the winter have been in the 
service of the American Hospital of Paris. 

Since September I have been driving one of the 
ambulances attached to this hospital, working with the 
British and French armies. 

On September 7 we made the first of a series of 
interesting trips into the environs of Paris, following 
^ In Harvard Alumni Bulletin, June 23, 1915. 
77 



78 WITH AMBULANCE MOTORS 

up the armies as they advanced toward the Aisne. For 
several weeks we were busy along the Marne gathering 
in wounded and bringing them back to Paris, till the 
battles rolled away so far that it was impossible to get 
any wounded men back to Paris. 

Then came a period of three months with the British 
in northern France, at Neuve Chapelle, and in Janu- 
ary we were first attached to the 8th French Army, 
operating in Belgium. 

Probably the most interesting period of all began in 
April, when we were first sent to Ypres to do the work 
of a section of military ambulances which had been 
ordered to another part of the Hne. We were attached 
to a field hospital estabHshed in a little chateau near 
Ypres, and here we stayed for several weeks, until a 
shell hit the hospital one night and we had to move the 
entire outfit. 

During these weeks at the " petit chateau," as it 
was universally called, we worked chiefly at night, 
going to the first field dressing stations and bringing up 
the men who had been hit during the day. These 
dressing stations were always placed in some con- 
venient farmhouse close to the front. At one place, we 
had to pass within four hundred yards of the German 
trenches to reach one of them. We always waited until 
it was dark, and then, one by one, we would start ofi for 



JOHN PAULDING BROWN, '14 79 

the dressing stations. The roads in the region near 
the trenches are in bad shape, being continually under 
shell fire, and as we could not have any lights, driving 
was often very difficult. Several of the cars tumbled 
into shell holes, and one time we had to abandon a car 
for two days as the enemy's fire made it impossible to 
work on it by daylight. However, considering that our 
cars were doing the same work which in other parts of 
the line was done by horse-drawn ambulances, we were 
unusually fortunate. Our American cars were the only 
motor vehicles which ever travelled along these roads. 

The men whom we picked up at the dressing stations 
were carried back about two miles, well out of rifle- 
fire, to the divisional field hospitals. Here they could 
be operated on, if necessary, before being sent along 
another six miles to the town from which the hospital 
trains started. 

Almost every night we found wounded German pri- 
soners at the field dressing stations, and those men 
were treated with every consideration by the French 
surgeons. All the time I was there I never saw any- 
thing but the most generous treatment of prisoners. 
The French were splendid in the way they looked after 
wounded Germans, drenched as they were in the blood 
of Frenchmen. To the army surgeons all wounded are 
alike. 



8o WITH AMBULANCE MOTORS 

I remember particularly a German who was brought 
in one evening by one of our cars. He had been lying 
between the trenches for four days, and was captured 
when the French advanced that afternoon. Four days 
and three nights in the open, under a pouring rain, 
with a fractured thigh and two serious wounds on his 
head, had not overcome this soldier; he lay perfectly 
still on the operating table and never murmured while 
they cut off his clothes. It was always like this; the 
German wounded were close rivals to the French in 
the way they took their pain. 

After each attack our work naturally increased, and 
at such times as during the big attacks of April we 
were kept busy night and day. On April 24 the poison 
gas was first used against the French; our little chateau 
was full to overflowing for six days, and several nights 
the grounds of the place were covered with stretchers 
on which lay the victims of the gas, coughing, and 
gasping for breath, soaked through after hours of rain. 
But by morning they would be all cleared away; except 
those who stayed in the orchard behind the chateau 
under rows of Httle wooden crosses. And then each 
evening it would begin all over again. This, however, 
was only the situation in times of very heavy fighting. 

No one can go to France without coming back filled 
with admiration for the way the nation is behaving 



JOHN PAULDING BROWN, '14 81 

during these tragic days. Every man and woman in 
the country seems to be fired with a holy zeal for a war 
which for them is one of liberty or of annihilation. 
They are fighting off the invader, and a defeat m.eans 
the downfall of everything they hold worth while in 
life. So they set themselves to the task with a reso- 
lute sternness which is magnificent to see, confident of 
final victory, and with it an enduring peace for France 
and for all of Europe. 

A FRENCH LANDSCAPE 

The period covered by the preceding report — that 
of the first spring-time in France at war — is 
vividly illustrated in a passage from another am- 
bulance driver, Dallas D. L. McGrew, '03, to a 
friend and teacher in Cambridge. Here the coun- 
try-side, with its scenes of peace persisting through 
the sounds of warfare, is spread before the seeing 
eye. 

This morning, Sunday the 14 Mars, two of the boys 
and I took a walk out of the St. Just en-chaussee road, 
North-East, to see some newly made trenches. The 
country is exactly like the Valley of Virginia, lacking 
only the marginal mountains — fertile and splendidly 
tilled. Five kilometres out of Beauvais in the middle 



82 WITH AMBULANCE MOTORS 

of a swell of ploughed land were the deadly ditches, 
wattle-walled, with latrines, drains, covered rest- 
rooms, and emplacements for mitrailleuses. A hundred 
metres oJBf they are practically invisible in the sprout- 
ing wheat. It was warm and misty, the rhythmic line 
of trimmed slender trees along the Amiens road quite 
dim, and wooded hills here and there faint blue in the 
landscape. Ploughing was going steadily on against 
the sky-lines, and the whole tender world was flooded 
by the songs of larks, singing almost frantically. Along 
the straight road passed an occasional hooded cart 
with good country people tous en dimanches, and ob- 
viously in the state that R. L. S. called " sabbatical 
vacuity," and consciously virtuous and contented. But 
all the while you could hear a deep periodic grumbling, 
way off to the eastward, that sounded like the mutter- 
ing of a storm. It was the big guns near Roye and 
Lassigny, twenty-five miles over the waking fields — 
almost inconceivable — a strange mixture of heaven 
and hell. Within a few days now we may move up to 
it, and then it will be feverish work, mainly at night, 
driving up unlighted roads to the field dressing stations, 
getting our gruesome cargoes and wallowing back — 
dodging ammunition trains of charging great motors, 
as well as hurrying columns of infantry and artillery — 
hub-deep in mud, blindly, to the evacuation hospitals 



DALLAS D. L. McGREW, '03 83 

Sit the nearest railway point. Over and over again till 
daylight, when we shall sleep, patch our racked ambu- 
lances, refill with oil and essence, and prepare for the 
next night's work! It's inglorious, unseen drudgery, 
and wholly necessary. There's no place in it for the 
man who wants a personally conducted tour of the 
battle-fields, or a sight of the locked, fighting men. 
But for the man who is ready to help, obscurely, but 
faithfully, we have great need, as well as for more cars. 



THE AMERICAN VOLUNTEER MOTOR- 
AMBULANCE CORPS 

THOUGH the motor corps of the American 
Ambulance Hospital in Paris has received the 
service of a greater number of Harvard men than 
any other single agency of relief, there has been 
since the early months of the War an entirely 
separate organization, the American Volunteer 
Motor- Ambulance Corps, which has owed its exist- 
ence and conduct to a single Harvard man, Richard 
Norton, '92, and has made for itself and its director 
an enviable record. This corps began its work 
under the joint auspices of the British Red Cross 
and the St. John Ambulance. It was thus primarily 
an offering of American aid to the English cause. 
As the War proceeded, it became desirable, under 
the British Army regulations, to transfer the asso- 
ciation of the corps to the American Red Cross, and 
to place its service at the disposal of the French 
Army. It is now, therefore, a militarized corps 
serving a definite division of one of the armies of 

84 



RICHARD NORTON, '92 85 

France. Mr. Norton has received the Croix de 
Guerre for the work he has done, and after the 
Champagne battle of September, 191 5, was men- 
tioned in the following terms in the orders of the 
day in the French Army corps to which his ambu- 
lance service is attached: 

Richard Norton, adjoint au Commandant de la 
Section Sanitaire Anglo-Americaine pendant las 
combats du 25 Sept. et des jours suivantes, a fait 
preuve du plus grand devouement et du plus beau 
courage, en conduisant lui-meme ses voitures de 
jour et de nuit dans les zones dangereuses et en 
donnant a toute sa section Fexample d'une 
endurance poussee jusqu' a I'epuisement de ses 
forces, 

(Signe:) Le Gen'l. Com. la 2me Armee. 

Petatn. 

A short and a long letter to his brother, Eliot 
Norton, '85, present a picture of a single day's work 
and a review of what the corps accomplished in the 
course of its first year, and especially in the battle 
which brought forth the recognition just cited. A 
later recognition, appearing among the '' Citations 
a rOrdre de T Armee ^' in Le Gaulois for July 10, 



86 MOTOR-AMBULANCE CORPS 

1 916, had reference to the work of the corps as a 
whole. It read as follows: 

La Section Sanitaire Automobile Americaine, 
No. 7, (sous les ordres de son chef, M. Norton, a 
fait, depuis plus de vingt mois, constamment 
preuve de I'esprit de sacrifice le plus complet. 
A rendu les plus grands services a la division a 
laquelle elle est attachee en assurant la releve des 
blesses dans les meilleures conditions. II n'est 
plus un seul de ses membres qui ne soit un modele 
de sang-froid et d'abnegation. Plusieurs d'entre 
eux ont ete blesses). 

June 7, 1915. 

The biggest battle I've yet seen is under way, and we 
are in the thick of it. It is now 8 a.m. and I've been 
here since 4. The French are pounding the bottom 
out of the world in front, and the Boches are doing their 
best to reply. I write at the dug out at the entrance 
to the trenches where the wounded wait for us. Bat- 
teries are around us and along the road we follow to 
the hospital. One is some fifty yards from the dug 
out, and the Boches are trying to find it — not entirely 
unsuccessfully, for about fifty yards from us there has 
just fallen a shell. 



RICHARD NORTON, '92 87 

We have three groups of four cars out on this work 
today; the others are doing the regular evacuations 
and service de garde — so we are furiously occupied. 
Back again from the hospital and waiting for the car 
to be loaded. It is a wonderful, brilliant summer day, 
but a strange haze from the bursting shells and torn 
earth hangs heavily over the fields. The roads are 
hidden in the clouds of dust raised by the constant 
tramp of thousands of men and by the shells of the 
ammunition wagons. There are some mules, too, 
bringing up the mitrailleuses. 

Later. Things are going well. We have taken three 
trenches and there are pas mat de prisonniers. The 
poor wounded men we carry are amazingly patient and 
uncomplaining. In fact, almost the only ones who even 
murmur are those who have gone out of their minds, 
and there are but few of these. The prisoners look a 
bit cast down, but otherwise bear themselves like men 
and are treated absolutely well. Only one seemed 
scared, and he was a boy, and wounded at that: he felt 
better when I told him nobody wanted to scalp him. 

We are under a tree now surrounded by a group of 
some twenty women of the village, stretcher-bearers, 
and the doctor who manages our dug out. The bom- 
bardment is lessening and there are no wounded for 
the moment. 



88 MOTOR-AMBULANCE CORPS 

A couple of batteries of big guns (220) are booming, 
and their shells shudder over our heads. It's curious 
to note the different sound different sized shells make. 
These " 220's " sound exactly like a big Catherine wheel 
when it begins to revolve — the same jirky whirr. If 
you are sufficiently near you don't notice this, as I 
perceived this morning when one that was hidden not 
fifteen feet from the road I was travelling went off 
exactly as I passed. I thought the Boches had got me. 
Taken all in all, it is the most tremendous and interest- 
ing and horrible spectacle one could imagine. Over- 
head the aeroplanes, surrounded by the beautiful, 
long-lasting puffs of heavy white smoke, the horizon 
line a few kilometres away — one long string of black 
or white geysers of smoke according to the sort of shell 
that explodes, and nearby the volleying, booming, 
whirring batteries, the ambulances, the fresh and the 
tired troops, the uncomplaining, pain-sick wounded, 
and the magnificent, cool, patient, heroic doctors. 
The Devil take the Boches, but I feel man is a pretty 
fine piece of work. 

10 P.M. Back again to our home camp at Baizieux, 
all safe and sound, rather to my surprise, as we had a 
decidedly sultry time this afternoon. As a memento 
I have a large hunk of a shell which exploded just over 
the roof of the dug out while I was inside. For some 



RICHARD NORTON, '92 89 

hours the shells were going off all round us making us 
run for the dug out if near enough, and do a powerful 
lot of trying to shrink up if we were a few yards too far 
off to do the rabbit trick. One of the cars got hit by a 
bit of spHntered wood. That was the only real casu- 
alty, though some of the cars suffered from being kept 
going too many hours without a stop. 

I must stop now and arrange for tomorrow when we 
shall probably be very busy again, though doing the 
night-work. Tonight we were relieved by some French 
cars. We are all all right, but I want some more 
volunteers. 

p.s. Have just got our lists in, and find we carried 
just over six hundred today. 

LaCroix, Champagne, 
October 14, 191 5. 

My dear Eliot: You will know by this time from 
letters I have written to L — , that we have been in the 
midst of the Champagne battle, and you will easily 
imagine that there has been no time to write to you any 
careful account of our work, such as I now wish to do. 
For the moment the nth Corps is en repos, after 
having borne the brunt of the fighting, so that we have 
a few days in which to rest ourselves, fix up the cars, 
and gather together various loose ends of work. 



go MOTOR-AMBULANCE CORPS 

As it is just a year since the Corps came into being, it 
is worth remembering what we started from and what 
we have developed into. Notwithstanding errors of 
judgment or accidents, we have accompKshed good 
work. A year ago we started from London with our 
cars, and not much more than hope for a bank balance. 
We were wanderers searching for work. During this 
year we have grown into a corps consisting now of some 
sixty cars, to which the St. John Ambulance and Red 
Cross Societies render any assistance we ask, and 
instead of wondering where we were to find occupation 
the French authorities have intrusted us with the whole 
ambulance service of the nth Army corps. . . . We 
have carried during the year just under twenty-eight 
thousand cases, and during the days from the 25 th 
of September to the 9th of October, our cars relieved 
the sufferings of over six thousand individuals. . . . 

You have been kept fairly well informed of the 
general course of our work through the summer. Our 
last very busy time was, as you know, at Hebuterne. 
This was followed by some weeks of less exciting, but 
equally necessary, work. In the middle of August we 
were ordered from the region of Amiens to Chalons- 
sur-Marne, where the recent fine advance has been 
made. The work here, owing to the nature of the 
country is much more difficult than it was before. It 



RICHARD NORTON, '92 91 

is a chalky, deserted region, with but few poverty- 
stricken villages. In large measure these were entirely 
or mostly destroyed during the Battle of the Mame. 
For this reason the housing of the volunteers, and the 
garaging of the cars is by no means easy to arrange. 
As a matter of fact, the cars stand in the open fields or 
in the pine woods, where aeroplanes cannot see them, 
and at present all our men are under canvas. 

An account of what we have had to do since the 
Battle of Champagne began will make clear to you the 
general circumstances of our work, the irregularities of 
it, the difficulties of it, and the satisfaction of it. For 
some weeks before the recent battle began, we knew 
from all sorts of evidence that a big movement was on 
foot. The movements of troops by night and day, the 
great numbers of aeroplanes and captive balloons, and 
general rumor, all pointed to this. It was not, how- 
ever, until we were sent from the region of Amiens to 
this district that we knew where the attack was to be 
made. And it was not until we had been some three 
weeks stationed within a few miles of the line here, 
that we had any inkhng as to exactly when, or at 
exactly what spot, the blow would be delivered. 

For two weeks before the battle began we had been 
stationed at Somme Vesle, a small village some fifteen 
miles behind the trenches. When, however, we were 



92 MOTOR-AMBULANCE CORPS 

sent forward our base became the village of La Croix 
in Champagne, where two large hospitals had been 
erected. Seven of the ambulances were stationed here 
to do the work of these hospitals, two others were 
placed at Somme Tourbe where are other hospitals, 
and where the trains come, five were sent to La Salle, 
a village beyond Somme Tourbe, one to St. Jean still 
nearer the lines, and finally two groups of seven each 
(afterwards increased to ten or more according to the 
needs) were sent to the woods where we camped out in 
tents and dug outs and carried the wounded of the 
2ist and 22nd Divisions from trenches Nos. 7 and 5, 
which had been dug for the purpose of bringing them 
out of the firing line. 

The whole countryside had been most carefully pre- 
pared. One main road had been cut from St. Jean over 
the rolling chalk hills to the villages of Herlus and 
Mesnil, which were between the French batteries and 
the front trenches, and from which other roads ran 
further north. Besides this main road, there were 
many tracks and trails over the chalk desert, and these, 
as the days passed, became more and more clearly 
marked. This main road and the tracks were all very 
well while the weather was good, but the instant the 
rain began to fall, which it did the first day of the bat- 
tle, and continued off and on for many days, they 



RICHARD NORTON, '92 93 

became as near impassable as could be. It was not 
only the enormous amount of traffic which made 
driving difficult, but the sHghtest rain turns this chalky 
soil into a mixture so slippery that a car standing quiet 
on the crown of the road would not infrequently slide 
gently but surely into the gutter, which was of course 
deep in mud. At night we had to drive without lights, 
which increased our difficulties. That none of the 
ambulances were bagged or seriously injured speaks 
well for the driving of both volunteers and chauffeurs. 

Besides the making of the road above mentioned, 
which is called the Piste Grosetti, narrow-gauge rail- 
ways had been laid to carry munitions and other sup- 
phes to the fighting line, and for miles the land was 
scored with deep-dug trenches. These had been placed 
most carefully, so that, for example, the ^' brancar- 
diers " brought the wounded from the firing Hne by one 
trench and returned by another. All praise should be 
given these brancardiers, who for the first days had 
often to bring the wounded on stretchers or two- 
wheeled " brouettes " several kilometres. After the 
first day we began to push the ambulances further to 
the front, for the roads and trails were no longer under 
rifle fire, though subjected to frequent sheUing. For 
three days before the 25th of September an incessant 
cannonade, continued by night and day, showed that 



94 MOTOR-AMBULANCE CORPS 

the region round Tahure was the one selected for 
attacking the Germans. It was on the twenty-fourth 
that we received final orders to move up to the lines, 
and to station our cars at the field hospitals and the 
trenches. We sorted out the cars and men according 
to their various capacities for the work, as far as we 
could foresee it. I took one group on the night of the 
twenty-fourth up to the lines. The other trench group 
was in charge of Messrs. J. B. Barrington and J. H. 
Phelps, two splendid workers and delightful gentle- 
men, and while during the following days I kept an eye 
on their group as well as on my own, I did so, not 
because of the faintest lack of confidence in their 
management, but merely because I was responsible, of 
course, for the general running of the work, and 
because I talk French more easily than they do. But 
even on the days when it was impossible for me to see 
them, I never had the slightest feeling that they would 
not manage as well as was humanly possible. 

Before we actually took up our positions I had been 
over the ground to get the lay of the land, to see where 
the various trails — they were scarcely more — led to, 
in order to know how best to direct the ambulances on 
their various errands. The country was absolutely 
packed; I can scarcely find any word to suggest a 
picture of how packed it was with troops and munition 



RICHARD NORTON, ^92 95 

trains. There was every sort and description. On the 
rolling land, over which the trenches, cut in through 
chalk soil, ran Hke great white snakes, the batteries of 
every sized gun were innumerable. I cannot tell you 
how many guns there were, but, in a radius of half a 
mile from where my ambulances stood the first night, 
there were at least a dozen batteries of various cali- 
bres, and they were no thicker there than anywhere 
else. We tried to sleep on the stretchers for an hour 
or two before dawn of the twenty-fifth, but when you 
have a battery of " 150's " coughing uninterruptedly 
within less than one hundred yards of where you are 
resting, to say nothing of other guns to right and to 
left of you, one's repose is decidedly syncopated. On 
the morning of the twenty-fifth the cannonade 
slackened, and we knew afterwards that the three 
previous days' work had battered the German Hues 
into a shapeless mass, and that the French infantry 
had made good the chance they had been patiently 
waiting for all summer of proving to the world their 
abihty to beat the Germans. 

It is curious to reaUze how Httle one knew of what 
was going on, though one was in the midst of the fight- 
ing. Even the soldiers could tell you practically 
nothing. We could only judge from scattered bits of 
evidence, such as the movements of the balloons and 



96 MOTOR-AMBULANCE CORPS 

batteries, that everything was going well, as you 
already know by the newspapers it did. It is enter- 
taining to read the accounts of one or two newspaper 
correspondents who were allowed after the fight to go 
over the won trenches. One of these wrote an account 
in the London Morning Post, that in a way was very 
good, but no one of us who was here all through the 
battle thought it took place as the correspondent 
described it. He certainly speeded things up con- 
siderably. We are in no position to tell what troops 
did the best work, but every one knows that the 
Colonials under General Marchand did splendidly, as 
did the nth corps which was along side them. 

It is curious that only three or four incidents of the 
twelve hard days' work stand out clearly in my mind. 
The rest is but a hazy memory of indistinguishable 
nights and days, cold and rain, long rows of laden 
stretchers waiting to be put into the cars, wavering 
lines of less seriously wounded hobbling along to 
where we were waiting, sleepy hospital orderlies, dark 
underground chambers in which the doctors were 
sorting out and caring for the wounded, and an unceas- 
ing noise of rumbling wagons, whirring aeroplanes, 
distant guns coughing and nearby ones crashing, shells 
bursting and bullets hissing. Out of this general 
jumble of memory one feature shines out steadily clear; 



RICHARD NORTON, '92 97 

it is of the doctors. Patient, indefatigable, tender, 
encouraging and brave in the most perfect way, they 
were everywhere in the forefront and seemingly knew 
not what fatigue meant. There were the two divi- 
sional doctors, Vachaise and Couillaud, who besides 
attending to their manifold duties did everything pos- 
sible to render our work successful. There were MM. 
Nieger and Daunoy, heads of the hospitals at Croix in 
Champagne and Somme Tourbe, who saw to it that at 
any hour of the day or night there was something hot 
for us to eat and drink and looked after any of us who 
were knocked up. There was M, Deschamps who 
helped Barrington and Phelps. Then there was 
L'hoste, my friend of Hebuterne days, who with his 
corps of assistants and brancardiers was always 
encouraging his men, who were in danger the whole 
time, by an example of cool courage and inteUigent, 
quick work that could not be surpassed. If the nurses 
are the angels of this war, these doctors are the apostles 
" who lift up this world and carry it to God." Doubt- 
less there are others on the other side of the Hne, but 
those mentioned I have seen and known. 

One of the incidents I have referred to which stands 
out clearly in my mind is of a nightmare drive to 
Herlus. I received orders late one evening to take two 
cars to this village at i a.m. Not being able to find the 



98 MOTOR-AMBULANCE CORPS 

divisional doctor to tell him that I considered it impos- 
sible to take ambulances by night, without lights, in 
the pouring rain over the shell-holed road which led to 
the village, I had to try it. Mr. Joseph Whitwell with 
his car and chauffeur accompanied me. On my car, 
I had George Tate, a most capable man. As he is a 
better driver than I am, he held the wheel while I (so 
it seems now) spent my whole time wading through 
knee-deep mud trying, by the faint light of an electric 
lamp, to find the way round shell-holes and bogs, or 
pushing the car out of the gutter. It shows how diffi- 
cult the journey was that to cover the six kilometres 
there and back took us two hours and a half. We had 
the satisfaction of getting the wounded safely to the 
hospitals, and perhaps it was not entirely low-minded 
of us to be pleased next morning when we heard that 
some French cars had refused to make the same 
journey. 

Another very distinct memory is of a morning spent 
with Mr. Joseph Phelps in a dug out at Perthes, the 
village where the advanced French lines were the first 
day. We had been sending cars to the village for two 
or three days, though the Germans still occasionally 
shelled it, but one evening, hearing they had begun 
again, I had a strong feehng that the position I had 
picked for the cars was insecure. It was all right for 



RICHARD NORTON, '92 99 

the men who could go to earth, but they couldn't take 
the cars with them, and our service would have been 
hampered had the latter been blown up. So at dawn 
Phelps and I took the ambulance down to the village, 
and left it a couple of hundred yards outside the ruins 
of the place, where the banks of a trench gave it some 
protection. Then we walked down to the poste de 
secours to tell the doctor in charge where the car was 
to be found when he needed it. There were one or two 
sHghtly wounded, and, while we were waiting for others, 
the Germans began to shell a battery which was some 
forty yards directly behind the poste de secours. For 
a short time they threw small shells and shrapnel at us, 
but as they hadn't got the range, everyone went on 
with his ordinary occupations, the most ordinary being 
rolHng cigarettes. In fact, if the American Tobacco 
Kings had any sense of justice, they'd give me the best 
ambulance to be bought to make up for the cigarettes 
we smoked that morning. It wasn't long before the 
Germans corrected their range, and then they began 
to send over big shells which drove us rapidly under- 
ground, blew up a horse ambulance just beside us, 
filled the entrance to our cave with dirt and spHnters, 
and made us wonder just how long our luck would last. 
However, they did no damage to the battery, which 
continued to give as good as it got; so the Germans, 



100 MOTOR-AMBULANCE CORPS 

apparently tiring of the game, tried to smother us with 
gas-shells. We fixed masks on the wounded and on 
ourselves, and after about two hours the Boches let up 
and we were able to take a long breath and express our 
feeHngs of the man who invented this dirty way of 
fighting. Nobody was really any the worse for the ex- 
perience, though our throats and eyes troubled us for 
a day or two. When, however, the chance came to call 
up the ambulance and take the wounded, I found that 
a large shell had exploded exactly on the spot where on 
the foregoing days I had stationed the cars. So far 
during this fight not a car has been injured by bullet or 
shell, except one which received a slight hole from a 
hand grenade which an over-excited Frenchman 
threw down in a stable yard, and thereby wounded 
some of his companions. 

Still another picture that rises in my mind, as I write, 
is of one cloudy morning, when, after a very tiring night, 
I was sitting on the roadside watching a rather heavy 
bombardment near by, and suddenly through the din 
rose the sweet clear notes of a shepherd's pipe. It was 
the same reed-pipe I have heard so often on the hills 
of Greece and Asia Minor, and the same sweetly-sad, 
age-old shepherd music telKng of Pan and the Nymphs, 
and the asphodel meadows where Youth lies buried. 
The piper was an ordinary piou-piou, a simple fan- 



RICHARD NORTON, '92 loi 

tasin, mon vieux Charles, with knapsack on back, rifle 
slung over his shoulder and helmet on head strolling 
down to the valley of death a few hundred yards 
beyond. Nor is this the only music I have heard. 
One night a violin sounded among the pines which 
shelter our tents, and I strolled over to find a blue-clad 
Orpheus easing the pain of the wounded and numbing 
the fatigue of the brancardiers with bits of Chopin and 
Schubert and Beethoven. 

Such are some of the impressions of the battle seen 
from this side of the line. Others I have formed since 
the main fight ceased, in the Hues previously held by 
the Germans. I went over some of their trenches the 
other day and have never seen anything so horrible. 
Although, as prisoners have told us, they knew they 
were to be attacked, they had no idea that the attack 
would be anything like so severe as it was. Those I 
have talked to said it was awful, and that they were 
glad to be out of it. Their trenches were very elabor- 
ately constructed, many of the dug outs being fitted 
up with considerable furniture, the dwellers evidently 
having no notion they would be hurriedly evicted. 
After the bombardment there was nothing left of all 
this careful work. The whole earth was torn to pieces. 
It looked as though some drunken giant had driven his 
giant plough over the land. In the midst of an utterly 



I02 MOTOR-AMBULANCE CORPS 

indescribable medley of torn wire, broken wagons, and 
upheaved timbers, yawned here and there chasms like 
the craters of small volcanoes, where mines had been 
exploded. It was an ashen gray world, distorted with 
the spasms of death — like a scene in the moon. Ex- 
cept for the broken guns, the scattered clothing, the 
hasty graves, the dead horses and other signs of 
human passage, no one could have believed that such 
a place had ever been anything but dead and deso- 
late. The rubbish still remained when I was there, 
but masses of material had been already gathered up 
and saved. 

The following notice, issued to the army on October 
ist will give you a notion of the vast quantities of 
material that were captured. 

Group or the Armies or the Centre 
{Bulletin of Information. To he distributed to the Troops) 

In the battles of the 25th, 26th, 27th, and 28th of September, 
191 5, we took 20,000 prisoners, of whom 18,000 were not 
wounded; we captured from the Germans 121 cannon, of which 
34 were of large calibre, without counting trench cannon (bomb- 
throwers, etc.). 

These cannon will be placed upon the Esplanade of the In- 
valides. 

We have taken a great number of rapid-firing guns, and ma- 
terial of all kinds. 

We will do still better in the future, and we will gloriously 
avenge our dead. 



RICHARD NORTON, '92 103 

In this notice no mention is made of some very 
interesting gas machines that were taken. They were 
of two sorts, one for the production of gas, the other to 
counteract its effects. The latter were rather elaborate 
and heavy but very effective instruments consisting of 
two main parts; one to slip over the head, protecting 
the eyes and clipping the nose, the other an arrange- 
ment of bags and bottles containing oxygen, which the 
wearer inhaled through a tube held in the mouth. 
There were several forms of these apparatuses, but the 
most interesting point to note about them is that one 
had stamped upon it the words: " Type of 1914 — 
developed from type of 191 2, developed from type of 
1908," thus showing that seven years ago the Ger- 
mans! had decided to fight with gas. 

Of the men who were with us during this time it is 
impossible to say that one did more than another. All 
worked with unflagging energy and zeal. Though their 
food was irregular and their sleep scanty, they bore 
their trials with a good-humoured steadiness that 
made one's own work easy. Of the volunteers prob- 
ably J. B. Barrington, the two Whitwells, the two 
Phelps, Bucknall, and Coatsworth did the hardest 
work. Of the chauffeurs Reeves, Tate, Gibson, and 
Baker (an ex-captain of the Army Service Corps, and 
of whom I shall certainly have more to say if he stays 



I04 MOTOR-AMBULANCE CORPS 

with us) were untiring and most helpful. In fact, 
everyone worked absolutely to his limit. 

There is little more to tell you. Our nth Corps has 
been withdrawn for a short time to rest, and this gives 
us time to make up our lost sleep and get the cars in 
good condition for the next heavy work. 

Your loving brother, 

Dick. 



A LABORER IN THE TRENCHES 

THE work of the fighting men, and of those who 
care for their broken bodies, is but a part of 
the story of modern warfare. The setting for the 
offerings of Hfe must be prepared more carefully 
than any stage scene. In a diary kept by F. C. 
Baker, '12, of the Cyclist Service in the British 
Army, published in the Harvard Graduates^ Maga- 
zine, a picture of the hard physical labor involved 
in the making of trenches, and of the conditions 
under which the work is done, may be found. 

About June 10, 1915.^ 
We have been kept well occupied, supplying working 
parties to assist " sappers." The work we have been 
doing has been mostly on one small part of the line, 
where there is a very pronounced local salient. Across 
this salient a second line of trenches is being made in 
case of any need of giving up the apex of the salient. 
A line of this sort is known as a " switch," and it more 
^ From Harvard Graduates' Magazine^ December, 1915. 
los 



io6 A LABORER IN THE TRENCHES 

or less cuts along the salient and joins up with the pre- 
sent fire-trenches on either side. Most nights we have 
been working on this switch, either digging or improv- 
ing trenches, or putting up wire or carrying up ma- 
terial. Some of the ground covered by this line can be 
seen from the German line, so work cannot be carried 
on there by day; moreover, an aeroplane would soon 
spot any working party and have it shelled right away. 
Being able to work only by dark has meant regular 
hours, almost like the routine hours of a peace-time 
job. We start off in the evening in time to get our 
digging tools and get up to the work just as sufficient 
darkness arrives to afford cover, and leave again as the 
first light begins to show itself. This " switch " is by 
no means healthy, as it is very liberally distributed by 
all the bullets coming over our fire-trenches from the 
other side. Such fire is called " overs," and, of course, 
is not aimed at one, but is just as good at doing dam- 
age, when it hits, as aimed fire might be. Being a 
saHent, the middle part of the ground gets " overs " 
from the flanks as well as the front. If there is a lot of 
fire coming from the German trenches, we have to quit 
work until it cools down a bit. It is rather a thankless 
job, it seems to me, as we are losing quite a few men at 
it, and get very little in return but candid criticism 
from rather self-satisfied R. E. subalterns. 



F. C. BAKER, 'i2 107 

On the other hand, there are most distinct and plea- 
sant advantages attached to it. There is a pleasant 
ride back in the early hours of morning, some welcome 
sleep, and then the day to one's self. When carrying 
stuff up to the " switch," we ride to an R. E. " dump " 
or store, load limbers with the required material, go 
with the limbers as far as it is safe for them to go 
(which is about a mile and a half behind the lines), and 
then unload the stuff. Each man takes as much as he 
can carry, and the journey is made to the place where 
the stuff is wanted. It is slow going, some of it through 
communication-trenches, and usually only about four 
journeys can be made, at the most, before dawn 
appears. I will try to describe the surroundings, seen 
as our party is digging. The line of the fire-trenches 
for miles around can be made out by the " flares " 
which continually go up (a kind of rockets fired from 
a pistol, which give out a ball of bright hght as they 
burst in the air and show the ground in front of the 
trenches to those holding them). You can see that the 
line here forms a rough arc of an arch. There is the 
continuous noise of rifle-fire from the trenches around 
and the curious snaps like small explosions which bul- 
lets make as they come past when they have been fired 
from not very far away, the noise of an occasional 
trench-mortar firing, and perhaps some guns firing 



io8 A LABORER IN THE TRENCHES 

and shells bursting on one side or the other. A 
" flare " will go up close at hand, and it will show for a 
second the ground around one — long grass, broken 
trenches here and there, with the earth from them 
piled in front or behind, mostly old trenches, some 
fairly straight and some zigzag communication- 
trenches. There is a short glimpse of the trench we 
are working, with our men outlined in it, putting up 
sandbags or filling them, or digging at the sides or 
bottom of the trench, all bending as low as they can to 
keep out of harm's way, then beyond them, perhaps, 
some barbed wire as far as one can see for the moment, 
or the ruins of a cottage. 

Our track, when carrying material, has often taken 
us through the remains of a little village. This village 
must have been very beautiful at one time, with a 
quaint little main street and a church in the middle of 
it. We have been through it on more than one night 
when the moon has been very bright, and in such a 
light its ruins were a weird and quite a picturesque 
sight. 



THE AMERICAN DISTRIBUTING SERVICE 

THE following letter differs from its fellows, in 
this collection, in that it was written, not by a 
participant, but by an observer of an important 
branch of relief work in France, in which Harvard 
men have borne a leading part. In October of 
191 5, Langdon Warner, '03, recently returned from 
France, was asked to contribute to the Harvard 
Alumni Bulletin an account of the work of the 
American Distributing Service, and his letter ap- 
peared in the issue of October 20. It has the ad- 
vantage of saying what Cross and Greeley and the 
others would never have said for themselves. One 
of them, in a private letter near the beginning of the 
war, wrote in a vein so characteristic of the spirit 
which took many men to Europe and kept others 
there that a few of his words may well be cited: 

I hope at least I can speak of my desire to help, 
without sounding as if I overestimated its value. 
Everything has some importance, and I should 

log 



no AMERICAN DISTRIBUTING SERVICE 

hate to think of going home to an ordinary life 
while there is a chance to do my share. . . . 
Don't think I am trying to be heroic! I am just 
finding out how strong my feelings are for right 
and justice. I wish I could tell you of something 
certain or already accomplished, but I can only 
hope to explain to you why I don't come home. 

Warner's letter is as follows: ^ 

You asked me for a word to the Bulletin about Har- 
vard men in France and something of the work they 
are doing. There are many there — with the army 
and out of it — doing all sorts of things under different 
organizations, as well as privately. One could not see 
a tenth of the number. 

The little group that I saw most included several 
Harvard men. They have been doing work which is 
so important that their friends at home should know 
more about it. As I write this, comes the shocking 
news that my classmate Bob Cross is dead, and Rus- 
sell Greeley, 'oi, lies in hospital with a broken hip; 
they were on duty, hurrying supplies to a French 
hospital. Last night came a cablegram from the 
remaining four in their distribution service telling of 
the pressing need for supplies and money, most of all 
^ In Harvard Alumni Bulletin, October 20, 1915. 



LANGDON WARNER, '03 iii 

money, to meet the needs of the thousands of wounded 
left behind by the new offensive action of the last 
fortnight. 

Briefly, this is what these few Americans have been 
doing for the last fourteen months. Organized by the 
wife of Robert Woods Bliss, '00, they have used funds 
suppKed by her for the instant reHef of the most 
obvious necessities in the hospitals of France. They 
call themselves the American Distributing Service. 
The work has been done in a way that has entirely 
won the hearts of the French, and they have managed 
to avoid appearing as critics of the volunteer and army 
hospitals and the other services. 

The French organizations are admirable and have 
proved their adaptabihty, since the terrible times after 
the victory of the Marne, to the present. These young 
men have been a part of it all, and have been per- 
mitted to carry a burden which, except in times of 
unbeHevable stress, would never have been trusted to 
foreigners. The Ministry of War had sent a circular 
letter to the hospitals of France giving the staffs per- 
mission to tell their needs to the American Distributing 
Service. 

The hospitals have been personally visited by mem- 
bers of the Service, and in the Paris headquarters are 
the detailed reports concerning them, a bulky set of 



112 AMERICAN DISTRIBUTING SERVICE 

folders, growing weekly, with added lists of supplies 
that have been hurried out to each. This head- 
quarters, given the American Distributing Service by 
the Paris Prefet de Police, has been turned into a great 
depot for materials; but the most impressive thing 
about it to the visitor is that the shelves are for the 
most part empty. In these days supplies are not kept 
long on hand. The floors above are turned into living 
rooms for refugees, and in another part the homeless 
women work on shirts and bandages and pyjamas 
made from cloth suppKed by the Distributing Com- 
mittee, who turn them over to the hospitals as soon as 
they are finished. 

Surgical instruments, bolts of cloth, sacks of sugar 
and coffee, hospital socks and slippers, and bales of 
underclothes are barely sorted before they are away 
on one of the overworked motors, either direct to a 
nearby hospital or to the railway where they are 
carried free on government pass to more distant points. 

Four of the staff are continually on the road visiting 
hospitals and keeping in touch with their requirements, 
writing or telegraphing back to headquarters for 
urgently needed shipments. All work is done in 
French, by Americans so thoroughly in touch with the 
country they serve that there is no hitch, no sense of 
patronizing outside aid for a proud and sensitive 



LANGDON WARNER, '03 113 

people. Best of all there is no red tape. The staff can 
buy in Paris what they decide to give away, and the 
money is accounted for on their own carefully-kept 
books. That is why they want funds which are 
readily convertible into suppHes of any sort, though 
they are glad to get bolts of cloth suitable for shirts 
and pyjamas, or gauze and cotton and antiseptics. 

I have by me, as I write, ninety-nine pages of type- 
written statistics covering the distribution during last 
August alone, when 44,587 articles were sent out, in- 
cluding material for operating rooms, surgical instru- 
ments, clothing of all kinds, steriUzing apparatus, 
bandages, linen, etc. The list of hospitals helped is 
now well over seven hundred, and the committee are 
getting into touch with fresh ones every day. 

There is no other organization in France on the same 
footing, and no other American organization for hos- 
pital relief was formed so early. They have been hard 
at work since August, 1914. 

Other Americans are doing work more exciting, and 
more dramatic, and better known: but it would be 
difficult to find any group of men who are rendering 
better service behind the scenes. The most cautious 
international lawyer could not accuse them of violat- 
ing letter or spirit of our carefully studied American 
neutrality by their ministrations. 



114 AMERICAN DISTRIBUTING SERVICE 

Now comes the news that Bob Cross, '03, is killed 
on duty, and Russell Greeley, '01,^ is disabled, but the 
service is going on full blast. There has been no public 
appeal for money, but three weeks ago they told me 
that they are now reaching the point where such an 
appeal must be made if the work is to be kept up. 

I should like to write of Bob Cross — perhaps the 
most conscientious fellow we knew — who, after 
exploring and hunting on repeated dangerous expedi- 
tions in the Arctic, met death on a French highway 
rushing supplies to the wounded. But this work of his 
and of his friends speaks clearly enough for Harvard 
College to know the rest. 

[The personnel of the American Distributing Service has been 
as follows: Russell H. Greeley, '01, Director (disabled) ; Geoffrey 
Dodge (Yale), Secretary; Horace B. Stanton, '00; B. B. Moore; 
Gerland Beadel; Charles Robert Cross, Jr., '03 (killed).] 

1 Not long after this occurrence Greeley was awarded the Cross of 
the Legion of Honor by the French government. 



A HARVARD CLUB AT THE FRONT 

ANOTHER letter to the Bulletin, this time 
from an active worker with the motor service 
of the American Ambulance Hospital, brought the 
welcome intelligence that Harvard men were meet- 
ing in a spirit of Harvard fellowship, even near to 
the battle-line. On February 12, 1916, Stephen 
Galatti, '10, wrote from Paris as follows: ^ 

The Harvard Club of Alsace Reconquise came into 
being on the night before the Yale football game and 
performed, as such, three official acts, namely: to send 
a telegram to Percy Haughton^ advising him how to 
beat Yale by Joffre tactics; secondly, to drink the 
health of the team after said game; thirdly, to have 

^ See Harvard Alumni Bulletin, March 8, 1916. 

2 This message, as recorded in the diary of T. J. Putnam, '15, on 
November 20, 1915, was as follows: " A la veille de votre combat, 
salut! Serrez vos ceintures, fixez vos baionnettes, chargez vos fusils 
grenades £t main, et en avant les gars! On vous regarde m^me des 
sommets des Vosges. 

" Le Harvard Club d' Alsace Reconquise." 

On November 22 Putnam wrote: " The Har^'ard-Yale score was 
annoimced, 41-0. The Harvard Club of Alsace Reconquise celebrated 
mildly, for Doyle (our only Yale man) was away." 

115 



ii6 A HARVARD CLUB AT THE FRONT 

their photograph taken. The first act was censored by 
unsympathetic ofiicials, the second was successful, 
and the third I enclose for your judgment. 

The reason for bringing this to your notice is that it 
may perhaps show you that Harvard is playing an 
important role in the work of the American Ambu- 
lance Field Service. There have been seventy-three 
Harvard men so far associated with it, and, as it hap- 
pens, the largest proportion have been with the 
Section working in Alsace. This Section was sent 
there in April, and after ten months service has been 
transferred to another army. While there, it had the 
opportunity, owing to the character of the country, to 
become the pioneer in evacuating wounded over those 
mountains by automobiles, the little Ford cars replac- 
ing mules, as fast as an extra few feet could be added to 
the width of the paths. In June, during an attack, the 
Section proved that an efficient evacuation of wounded 
could be made over one mountain road, and later, in 
October, and again in December, at Hartmanswiller- 
kopf was able to cope with the difficult conditions. In 
the period between these attacks the daily service over 
many mountain roads, covered with mud, snow, or 
ice, was performed regularly, and reduced the hours of 
transport for the wounded in one run from five to two 
hours, and in others from three to less than one hour. 



STEPHEN GALATTI, 'lo 117 

With the moving of the Section to another army, 
the Harvard Club of Alsace Reconquise ends its active 
career (but expects to have even more active meetings 
in New York or Boston) . It was perhaps only a name, 
but its members enjoyed the name as signifying that 
Harvard was there too in reconquered territory, and 
they feel that its unique position among many Har- 
vard Clubs may interest your readers. 

R. Lawrence, '02, with D. D. L. McGrew, '03, and 
Lovering Hill, '10, as assistants, was Section-leader 
from April to July; on the departure of the former 
two, L. Hill, '10, with H. M. Suckley, '10, Durant 
Rice, '12, and A. G. Carey, '14, as assistants, was 
appointed to its head. 

The following is a list of members: 

A. G. Carey, '14. D. W. Lewis, '14. 

P. T. Gate, '15. D. D. L. McGrew, '03. 

C, R. Codman, '15. John Melcher, '18. 

E. J. Curley, '04. J. M. MeUen, '17. 

W. K. Emerson, '16. Waldo Peirce, '07. 

Stephen Galatti, '10. J. R. 0. Perkins, '14. 

H. D. Hale, '14. T. J. Putnam, '15, 

H. K. Hardon, '12. W. K. Rainsford, '04. 

A. T. Henderson, '13. Durant Rice, '12. 

Lovering Hill, '10. J. H. Smith, '02. 
A. R. Jennings, G.S. '14-15. H. M. Suckley, '10. 

Richard Lawrence, '02. M. F. Talbot, '16. 
P. B. Watson, '15. 



A SCENE IN ALSACE 

THOUGH the letter from Waldo Peirce, '07, 
to Professor C. T. Copeland, from which the 
ensuing passages are taken, bears a later date — 
May I, 1916 — than that of some which follow, it 
describes the scene in which the Harvard Club of 
Alsace Reconquise had its being. It is accordingly 
printed here — not only for its revelation of the 
activities of members of this unique Harvard Club, 
but also for its vivid picture of nature torn asunder 
by war. 

I SPENT the winter in Haute Alsace — around a certain 
old nubbin — "a protuberance of terra firma/' a la 
Dr. Johnson — called Hartmanswillerkopf . I wish to 
God I were still there. When I was there I usually 
wished I were anywhere else in the world. The bottom 
of a sewer to the armpits and over in liquid manure 
would have seemed a wholesome and savory situation 
— provided the sewer were profound enough and the 
manure resistant enough to defy obus, and all their kind. 
To see the old nubbin itself — spur of the Vosges — 
concealed between the parallel spurs — one must 
grind up the old mule paths — since broadened into 

Z18 



WALDO PEIRCE, '07 119 

fair wood roads — quite close. Leave the main artil- 
lery, go out towards a battery or observation " poste," 
crawl into an old shell hole, and where the trees have 
snapped Hke straws to the obus, take a good look 
through. Below you are still trees, but as the ground 
rises au face, they dwindle and disappear, as disap- 
pears all vegetation in great altitudes, or diminish 
towards the north — quietly, quietly towards the ice- 
fields. Here, however, no great altitude, nor any 
ice-fields. First come the maimed trees, then the skele- 
tons of those dead with their boots on, then a bare 
stump or two — a few ankle bones — then nothing. 
Before the war all was forest — and a damned thick 
one at that. Then, all our timber, grown to its prime, 
lulled into a false security, sun-basking en beau temps, 
buffeting and jostling their neighbors in the wind — 
crash one day out of a clear sky! . . . The nubbin, 
the old ridge, the spur, the razor-back, whatever you 
call it, loses its pelt; after its pelt, its hide — after that, 
its whole scorched anatomy is drubbed, hammered, 
ploughed, furrowed, ripped, scoured, torn, shattered — 
consult dictionary of synonyms — and beplastered 
with every calibre of obus that whines. For they 
whine, the bastards, they whine to tell you of their 
coming, and give the flesh a moment to goose itself in, 
and damned pagans like some of us to find a religion. 



I20 A SCENE IN ALSACE 

No Moslem ever curved his vertebrae with a quicker 
parabola at the sight of Mecca — or the antics of the 
Sun. No armadillo or ant-eater ever entrenched his 
proboscis in the ground with the despatch of our hero 
at the whine of an obuSj to all intents and purposes 
about to land between the eyes. Mud, manure, . . . 
down into it, nose first, and make thy world therein, 
while she whines and whines overhead! Sometimes 
the whining becomes a drone, feebler and feebler — 
perhaps she isn't going to make the grade. You help 
her on her way with every muscle in your prostrate 
form. Once I drove into an abrij side of the road, 
and stuck at the entrance — a damned narrow pas- 
sage, not for maternity girdles — leaving two friends 
outside, alternately pushing and pulling in vain. I was 
known as the human hondon (bung) thereafter — 
another man, the human " magnet," attracting always 
tons of metal. . . . Another man is called the human 
" earth-worm,'' always to be found in a cellar or 
gutter. ... I have hit cellars too, consoHng good 
nuns — sisters of charity of German stock, i. e., 
Alsacians — who gave me underclothes of the dead, 
gratefully received, for my sympathetic attitude. One 
was killed one day of bombardment in the valley. I 
wear still a good khaki jersey she gave me. I've 
forgotten her name — probably Ursula. 



WALDO PEIRCE, '07 121 

I started out to give you a description of our moun- 
tain. I left you peering through the gap in the trees — 
n'est-ce pas? — Eh hien — before you, the old scalped 
nubbin — the most awful monument of war I have 
seen. It's inhabited, this mass of terra infirma — muy, 
muy inferma — as the Spaniard would say — (this 
being Cervantes tricentenary, have to heave in a bit of 
old Castillian). There are small ants of men who 
crawl about amid its boils, ruptures, and gaping sores. 
Some are French, some Boches. The Hnes are about 
a yard apart at the top, for no one side can hold it 
against the other, though taken and retaken many 
times. Thus they live together — only in the fear of 
kilKng one's own lies their security. It's a sort of 
terrific altar of war against the sky, drenched with a 
thousand sacrifices, rising grim and naked, and scarred 
alive — the valley and her slopes tree-covered. It was 
always a spectacle that chased the red corpuscles in 
my veins down into my heels, and brought every white 
one to the surface. The last time I looked at it, per- 
haps we were seen — we were three — the ohus began 
whining at us from somewhere in Bocheland — I 
measured my length ... as I will measure it again. 
Somewhere on the Vosgean steep . . . there must be a 
perfect mold — the life-mask of one Peirce, conducteur 
d'ambulance. I have not seen the old nubbin since. 



THE DEATH OF A COMRADE 

STILL another picture of the Hfe led in the Vos- 
ges by the group of Harvard men who formed 
the Club of Alsace Reconquise is found in the diary 
of Tracy J. Putnam, '15. It would be possible to 
draw upon its pages, not only for experiences in the 
winter mountains, but also for summer days in 
Dunkirk and its vicinity. Here there is space but 
for the journal of seven days, on the last of which 
occurred the funeral of a comrade killed in service 
— Richard Hall of Ann Arbor, a graduate of Dart- 
mouth, much beloved by his fellows at the front. 

Monday, December 20th. 
After dinner walked out over the moonlit fields, the 
great guns booming at intervals. Returning, met a 
soldier fully armed, and somewhat tipsy. He de- 
manded my name and business, but would not divulge 
his own; as he had the gun, I gave way. Soon we 
became very chummy; he told me he was an agent de 
liaison, coming to Mollau to see his girl, and asked me 
in to have a drink with him. If I had been a spy I 
could have had all his papers. 



TRACY J. PUTNAM, '15 123 

Continued back to the billet, absorbed in contem- 
plation. Was seized by the telephonist; some one 
wanted urgently to speak to Hill and Triffault. Found 
both with some trouble. 

The message was, seven cars to Tomans, two to 
Freuenstein, one to Pastetenplatz, five to Moosch. 
The attack is on ! the attack is on! 

SuisfDAY, December 21st. 

Cold, cloudy. Terrific bombardment. 

An atmosphere of ill-suppressed excitement. Galatti, 
Mellen and I went up to Freuenstein, arriving about 
ten. The road was full of troops and wagons — many, 
staff cars. At the post we found ourselves in the midst 
of a group of batteries of various sizes, firing inces- 
santly. Occasionally the two ''370's" in the valley 
would go off, and we would hear the shell tear past 
over our heads. 

No work in the morning or early afternoon, as the 
attack did not begin until noon. 

We three walked to the hoyau leading to the trenches 
on the Sudelkopf , and cautiously peered over the ridge 
at Hartmanns. A terrible sight! There was a band of 
trees stripped bare by shell-fire, from the valley to the 
crest. Shells were landing momently on each side of 
the line, and sending up a little or a big cloud of 



124 THE DEATH OF A COMRADE 

smoke. We saw one torpedo, rising and falling slowly, 
wavering from side to side like a bird, and finally 
bursting. 

A company of soldiers passed us, going to the 
trenches. They stopped to load; then went on, stoop- 
ing behind the parapet. It did not seem possible that 
any of them could go down to that shell-dotted hillside 
and return alive; I wonder if any of them did. 

We walked down to the ridge again, mostly on our 
bellies, through the light wet snow, past two tele- 
phonists nervously following a wire, past a trench with 
the hand-grenades laid out, past the path to the castle, 
and so back to the post. The mediaeval castle of 
Freuenstein is on the top of a little hill. It would be an 
interesting place to visit; only the Germans found a 
" 75 " battery in it, and knocked it to pieces, and 
always look on it now with suspicion. 

We returned to the post. As I have said, there was 
no work for some time; standing still, it was cold, and a 
light snow was falling; no place to stay; and no meals 
were provided for us. We at last found a cabin which 
kept the wind off, and I went to sleep. Woke up 
hungry and cold; the others had found a travelling 
kitchen, and we got something to eat. 

Just before dusk, prisoners and wounded began to 
come in. One of the former could speak French, and a 



TRACY J. PUTNAM, '15 125 

crowd collected to hang on his words. The Germans 
were pleased enough to be prisoners. They had better 
be! The chasseurs do not take prisoners; they shot 
about twenty who wished to surrender today. 

The French were successful everywhere, as far as we 
can find out, in this first attack. They have got to the 
valley of the Sudel ridge. 

I rolled last, about five. Blesses, French and Ger- 
mans were coming in quickly, some hung in blankets 
for want of stretchers. One or two men had pneu- 
monia from the gas. The three I took down were all 
rather low. 

We have to descend by the Bittschwiller road, like 
all the rest of the traffic. A good idea, but poor in 
practice, especially as the B — road is so difficult. . . . 
Road from Tomans down, icy and sHppery; Mellen 
unable to descend with only one chain, wagons every- 
where in trouble. I reached Moosch in safety, however. 

Wednesday, December 22. 

Warmer, thaw, rain, mist. Somewhat less bom- 
bardment. 

Woke, much refreshed, to find a thaw setting in, 
with mist and rain. After a Httle work on the car, 
rolled up the hill. Blesses coming in rather more 
slowly, but still fast enough to keep us busy. 



126 THE DEATH OF A COMRADE 

Last night Hill and the Divisionnaire were down 
near Bains-Douches, when they came across a body of 
Germans, unarmed but unguarded. So they had to 
act as guards; marshalled them, and marched them 
to the post, Hill giving commands in German. 

Trips to Bains-Douches and Heerenfluh; shells 
rather close. 

On one of my trips to Moosch was able to pick up a 
peau de mouton, and some Boche boots; much needed, 
for both my pairs are soaked through. 

The hospital is getting more and more crowded. . . . 
The corridors are so full of stretchers that it is almost 
impossible to move along them. There is room for 
only six stretcher cases in the salle de buage, and there 
is a rule against removing any of them into the hospital 
until all have been entered on the books. Six cars 
waited two hours to be unloaded, the poor wretches 
inside crying to be unloaded. And everyone has been 
expecting the attack for two weeks! 

Bad news from the trenches: the Germans have 
counter-attacked in force, and retaken most of their 
losses. Worst of all is the disaster which has befallen 
the 152nd, one of the finest " attacking regiments " in 
France. They were on Hartmanns; after a terrific 
bombardment, the signal was given to charge. The 
Germans gave little or no resistance, but fled or sur- 



TRACY J. PUTNAM, '15 127 

rendered. They passed two trenches, and were attack- 
ing the third, when a large body of Germans appeared 
behind them, having reached the first trenches by a 
subterranean passage. There were no reserves; all 
but less than a company of the 152nd were killed or 
captured. That has been the universal complaint: no 
reserves. 

However, the number of German prisoners is be- 
tween one thousand and one thousand five hundred, 
with more killed. The French losses are very large 
also. 

We have to go by the Bitschwiller road again. But 
when it is muddy, it is not so bad, for the mud acts as 
a brake. We are not supposed to have headlights, 
although some do. Suckley told the driver of a staff 
car this; the driver took one look at the precipice, and 
said: " Si vous pouvez descendre sur cette route sans 
flares, vous etes plus malin que moi." And he went on. 

Slept three hours at Tomans. 

Thursday, December 23d. 

Rain and mist. Bombardment by the Germans. 

After a slight lull in the morning, work began again. 
Rolled pretty steadily. 

The Germans are firing on all the towns they can 
reach in the Thur: Thann, the Willers, Moosch, St. 



128 THE DEATH OF A COMRADE 

Amarin, Wesserling, and Hiieseren. Two large ones hit 
in the yard behind the baths at the 16-7^ while Douglas 
was at the hospital; they have closed it. A good many 
people, soldiers and civilians, have been killed. 

There has been heavy shelling on the Bains-Douches 
road also. Doyle was sent down to the post there, but 
the marmites were so thick that he had to retire to the 
ahri. He only stuck his nose out once in the course of 
the day — and just then a shell went off near the door 
of the dug out, and struck him in the arm. Douglas 
was sent down at twilight when the shelling let up a 
little, and he was relayed to the Sources, with great 
honor. The missile went down to the bone, but did 
not cut either nerve or tendon; somewhat painful, but 
not serious, and so romantic! . . . 

But the shortage of men is serious. Walker has been 
ill since the first day. Perkins has developed an abscess 
in the ear. Carey, out for a record, has been checked 
by a sore throat. The strain is telling a httle on all of 
us; only Curley is a man of iron, who is so uncomfort- 
able at Moosch that he rolls up to Tomans, and so 
disgusted with Tomans that he rolls down to Moosch 
again at once. 

The cars, too, are giving way. The Bitschwiller 
road is wearing out brake-bands faster than they can 
^The hospital at Wesserling. 



TRACY J. PUTNAM, '15 129 

be put on. Several axle shafts have broken, among 
others that on the supply car, that is now reposing 
among the corpses in the garage at Tomans. 

Friday, December 24th. 
Heavy showers, mist. 

Fitful bombardment, evidently much hampered by 
the fog. 

Made one trip in the morning, one in the early after- 
noon. Returning from the latter, was impressed into 
service by Dick Hall to get a couche and four assis at 
Wilier. But when we got to the infirmary, found that 
the " lier " could sit up, so that they could all five get 
into Hall's car. But no sooner had they mounted than 
an infirmier said he had to go too. We dissuaded him, 
however, and I rolled up the mountain, and Dick 
rolled down to Moosch. Poor Dick! Poor charming, 
whimsical Dick! I never saw him again. 

Had a trip down in time for supper at Moosch. On 
my way up found Gate in trouble with a tire — his 
sixth since the beginning of the attack — and stopped 
to help him. When we were finished, we went on, but 
found Douglas, Peirce, Jennings, all waiting at the 
watering trough for some trucks to reach the top of the 
hill, as they were impossible to pass. Finally we 
started off again, a merry convoy, stopping to heave 



ISO THE DEATH OF A COMRADE 

Peirce's old ' bus up every little grade. A cart, stuck 
in the middle of the steep corner, complicated matters, 
but we finally reached Tomans. I was lulled to sleep 
by one of the survivors recounting the story of the 
152nd. 

Christmas Day. 

Fog. Desultory firing. No work. 

As I was lying awake in the morning, the sergeant of 
the infirmiers came in. " Very bad news everywhere,'' 
he said with a grave face. " We have lost several of 
our trenches — and one of the Americans has been 
killed." 

After I saw Dick at Wilier, he must have taken his 
men to Moosch, waited there a Httle while, and started 
up to Tomans again as usual. The road was almost 
empty. I can imagine him stopping at the lonely 
watering trough, smiling a little to himself, as he used 
to when he was alone, hearing the shells above him, 
and thinking perhaps how lucky Doyle was to have 
come off as easily as he did; perhaps of something 
entirely different, of Christmas, of going home — who 
knows what ? Then he cranked his car, and started to 
climb again. 

For some time the Germans had been trying without 
success to locate an observation post on the ridge above 
Tomansplatz, near Markstein. A battery, probably 



TRACY J. PUTNAM, '15 131 

at the northern end of the Sudelkopf, had been firing 
at it on Christmas Eve. One of the last shells, between 
six and seven in the evening, overshot the ridge, and 
fell on the zigzags of the road, about midway between 
the turn with the watering trough and the steep 
corner. It struck Dick Hall's car just behind the front 
seat; it must have been quite a big one, for it blew the 
car completely off the road, bent in the frame, smashed 
to match- wood the light body, flattened out the tins of 
petrol. Dick was wounded in three places, the head, 
the side, and the thigh, and killed at once. 

His body lay there, among the wreck of his car, all 
night. Our merry convoy passed without seeing it. 
I saw one of the gasoline cans by the side of the road, 
and stopped to pick it up, wondering who dropped it. 
About six in the morning, just as it was getting light, 
Jennings and Matter came up together; they saw the 
car, stopped to look at it, and found the body. 

Monday, December 27th. 
Chilly, intermittent rain. 

Went down about noon. The triage has been trans- 
ferred from Moosch to Wilier; after leaving my men 
at the latter place, proceeded to the former. 

Hill gave me permission to stay down for Dick's 
funeral. About half the boys were down; we drove 



132 THE DEATH OF A COMRADE 

over through the rain to the Protestant chapel at 
WesserHng. A chaplain preached. The chapel was at 
first empty, but slowly it filled up with English and 
Frenchmen; all our friends, and some we had never 
known. 

After the civil ceremony, the coffin was loaded in 
Louis' ambulance, and driven to Moosch again for the 
military ceremony. A guard of honor of old Terri- 
torials — all they could spare, I suppose — lined up 
on each side. The Protestant chaplain again con- 
ducted the ceremony, while the crowd Hstened bare- 
headed in the rain. The divisionnaire pinned the croix 
de guerre on the flag that draped the bier; the several 
majors each spoke a few words. The pall-bearers took 
up the coffin, and we all marched to the crowded 
graveyard on the hill behind the hospital. 

The Enghsh section was present almost to a man. 
There were, of course, a great many of the French — 
so many people had known Dick and liked him. The 
little girl from the cafe, and the one from the shop, 
both came to leave a flower on the grave. 



WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION 

THERE has been no more courageous service 
in the War than that of the Foreign Legion of 
the French Army. This organization, drawn from 
men of all races and types, contained its Harvard 
representatives — among them Victor Chapman, 
'13, who turned later, and fatally, to the Flying 
Service; Alan Seeger, '10, a young poet of un- 
common promise, several times, and at length with- 
out denial, reported killed; H. W. Farnsworth, '12, 
killed at Tahure in the autumn of 191 5, a writer of 
remarkable letters from which some passages will 
presently be given; and David W. King, '16, also 
to be represented in a letter written from the front. 
Before them, however, a poem of Seeger 's which 
appeared in the North American Review, a charm- 
ing expression of the spirit of joyous and devoted 
youth, the more poignant now through the fulfill- 
ment of its prophetic strain, should enter at this 
point in the record of Harvard service. 



Z33 



134 WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION 



CHAMPAGNE, 1914-15I 

On the glad revels, in the happy fetes. 

When cheeks are flushed, and glasses gilt and pearled 
With the sweet wine of France that concentrates 

The sunshine and the beauty of the world, 

Drink sometimes, you whose footsteps yet may tread 
The undisturbed, delightful paths of Earth, 

To those whose blood, in pious duty shed. 
Hallows the soil where that same wine had birth. 

Here, by devoted comrades laid away, 
Along our lines they slumber where they fell, 

Beside the crater at the Ferme d'Alger 
And up the bloody slopes of La Pompelle, 

And round the city whose cathedral towers 

The enemies of Beauty dared profane, 
And in the mat of multicolored flowers 

That clothe the sxmny chalk-fields of Champagne. 

Under the little crosses where they rise 
The soldier rests. Now round him undismayed 

The cannon thunders, and at night he lies 
At peace beneath the eternal fusillade. ... 

^ From North American Review, October, 1915. 



ALAN SEEGER, ^lo 135 

That other generations might possess — 
From shame and menace free in years to come — 

A richer heritage of happiness, 
He marched to that heroic martyrdom. 

Esteeming less the forfeit that he paid 

Than undishonored that his flag might float 

Over the towers of Hberty, he made 
His breast the bulwark and his blood the moat. 

Obscurely sacrificed, his nameless tomb. 
Bare of the sculptor's art, the poet's lines. 

Summer shall flush with poppy-fields in bloom, 
And Autumn yellow with maturing vines. 

There the grape-pickers at their harvesting 
Shall lightly tread and load their wicker trays, 

Blessing his memory as they toil and sing 
In the slant sunshine of October days. . . . 

I love to think that if my blood should be 

So privileged to sink where his has sunk, 
I shall not pass from Earth entirely 

But when the banquet rings, when healths are drunk, 

And faces that the joys of living fill 

Glow radiant with laughter and good cheer, 

In beaming cups some spark of me shall still 
Brim toward the lips that once I held so dear. 



136 WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION 

So shall one coveting no higher plane 
Than nature clothes in color and flesh and tone, 

Even from the grave put upward to attain [known; 

The dreams youth cherished and missed and might have 

And that strong need that strove unsatisfied 
Toward earthly beauty in all forms it wore, 

Not death itself shall utterly divide 
From the beloved shapes it thirsted for. 

Alas, how many an adept for whose arms 
Life held delicious offerings perished here. 

How many in the prime of all that charms, 

Crowned with all gifts that conquer and endear! 

Honor them not so much with tears and flowers. 
But you with whom the sweet fulfillment lies. 

Where in the anguish of atrocious hours 
Turned their last thoughts and closed their dying eyes, 

Rather when music or bright gathering lays 

Its tender spell, and joy is uppermost, 
Be mindful of the men they were, and raise 

Your glasses to them in one silent toast. 

Drink to them — amorous of dear Earth as well. 
They asked no tribute lovelier than this — 

And in the wine that ripened where they fell. 
Oh, frame your lips as though it were a kiss. 

Alan Seeger, 
Deuxieme Regiment Etrangere. 
Champagne, France, July, 1915, 



DAVID W. KING, 'i6 137 

FROM DAVID W. KING, '16 
The letter from King, written when his classmates 
at Cambridge had just begun the peaceful work and 
warlike play of their senior year, is as follows: 

October 12, 191 5.^ 
On the 24th of September we were moved up into 
a boyau, so as to be ready for the attack the next 
day. The shelling was something hellish, and had 
been going on for three days and nights. The morning 
of the twenty-fifth was foggy, and it was thought that 
the attack would be postponed, but about nine o'clock 
it cleared off and we moved up into the first line 
trenches. If the shelling was infernal before, it was 
quadruple then. We had to cross a road and get into 
the final sally trench, and I assure you, we did it on the 
hop, marmites landing bang on the spot, and the air 
full of humming-birds and insects. 

The Colonial Infantry led off, and we were their 
immediate supports, following them at one hundred 
yards' distance. They swept forward and took trench 
after trench, all demolished by our guns, and then we 
followed them. It was pretty to see the effects of 
training; we went forward just as we had done a 
hundred times in practice. 

^ From Harvard Alumni Bulletin, March 22, 1916. 



138 WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION 

When we had passed over the first two lines of 
trenches, we began to get their shrapnel, so we halted 
in close formation. Some one screamed on my right, 
and my gun was shattered in my hand. The little 
corporal beside me had got his in the head. We then 
moved up into an old German boyau, but there were 
some guns back of us, and we got all the marmites 
that fell short of them; this was not good enough, so 
the battalion followed up and we came to a stop in an 
open field at about four o'clock. They turned loose 
everything they had on us — shrapnel, marmites, air 
torpedoes, and mitrailleuses, and, as we had advanced 
farther than the rest of the line, they had us enfiladed. 
About ten o'clock, they moved us to a little ridge 
twenty-five metres back, and told us to dig ourselves 
in. It was raining hard and we were lying flat in the 
mud, so you may be sure we were glad of the exercise. 

Morning found us in individual shelter-holes, and 
just as well, for at day-break the fun began again. We 
lay there all day, on an exposed crest. I forgot to say 
that during the night, fifty yards ahead in a work 
where the first line was, we suddenly heard a deuce of a 
row, shouts, shots, and all sorts of confusion. Sud- 
denly a bugle rang out with ^^ Au drapeau,^' and then 
the Charge. Then there was a lot of French cheering 
and silence. It seems that the Boches had made a 



DAVID W. KING, 'i6 139 

counter and the regiment in front was broken and 
scattering. It flashed over one of our ^^ clarions/' who 
found himself with them, to sound the Charge. It is 
forbidden to use bugle calls, but this time it pulled 
them together, and they pushed the Boches back with 
"Rosalie." We didn't know what to do; we could 
only stand fast till they were driven back on us, but 
we almost went crazy when they blew that charge, — 
it sure was inspiring. The thick gutteral shouts, and 
then clear through it all: — 

'Y a de la goutte a boir' la haut, 
' Y a de la goutte a boir' ! 

Well, we spent the twenty-sixth in the field, as I say; 
nothing to mention. That night they got our range 
with marmites. One of our sergeants was buried alive, 
and we had to dig him out under fire; just in time too; 
he was gasping like a fish when we got him. 

The morning of the twenty-seventh, we went back 
two hundred yards and held a boyau. Some hell it 
was too; it was an old Boche boyau, and they had the 
range down pat. I was working up on its lalus, and 
they dropped one bang into it. It blew me over 
backward, and when I picked myself up, there was 
thick black smoke pouring out of the trench; no one 
killed. Some luck! 



I40 WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION 

More rain that night, but we got some food. The 
morning of the twenty-eighth, we were moved across 
the whole field to make an attack on our right. I 
believe our battalion was cited in the order of the Army 
for their conduct under the shelling and fire we got. 
We got into a little woods just before our rush for the 
final position, and the section on our right got a mar- 
mite bang in its centre. I looked around to see what 
looked Hke a football scrimmage wreathed in smoke, — 
just a whirl of men and smoke. I had no time to see 
any more, as we had to cover the last gap at a run. 

We arrived in position behind a little wood and 
there found out that the rest had attacked before our 
arrival, had hit the barbed wire, and had been wiped 
out. We didn't attack. 

Late that night we returned to the hoyau. More 
rain on the morning of the twenty-ninth. Same 
manoeuvre; we crossed the whole front again, got 
into the same position, dug ourselves in and waited; 
were shelled all day but lost practically nothing. 

We spent the night in the holes we dug. 

We spent the thirtieth in the same holes. That night 
we took over some advance ditches and converted 
them into trenches. 

More shelling. We spent the first (October) in the 
same place. The night of the second, we were relieved, 



DAVID W. KING, 'i6 141 

and, after working all day, we were marched back 
thirty miles. We got there the morning of the third, 
cleaned our rifles, found our mail, and camped under 
canvas. On the morning of the fourth, there were 
rumors that we were to return that night. At three 
o'clock in the morning of the fifth they called us out, 
and off we went. Arrived in the third line, and slept in 
arms. We were in reserve all day of the sixth, as there 
was an attack in front. The Tirailleurs Senegalais 
attacked, but were checked. The Zouaves, on their 
right, attacked, took their trench, and then took the 
one that the Tirailleurs were to have taken. 

We spent the night in the same place. There was a 
Dutch gunner who had the direction down pat. He 
didn't deviate one millimetre from the point of my 
nose, but he didn't have the distance at all; he was 
making wonderful guesses at it all through the night. 
It quite spoiled my sleep. 

The night of the eighth, we came up here. It's the 
deuce of a place. We work on the front line all night, 
and they amuse themselves by dropping shrapnel and 
marmites into the working parties. During the day 
we are supposed to rest, but there are batteries all 
around us, and the consequence is that the Boches are 
always feeling around them, and the guns themselves 
make such a fiendish racket that we are almost deaf. 



142 WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION 

To make things more cheerful, as we were going to 
work, a shell burst near my best friend (F. W. Zinn) 
who was walking just ahead of me, and he got a piece 
in the side. It did not penetrate, but it made a bad 
contusion just under his heart, and I am afraid it 
smashed some ribs. There were no Red Cross workers 
nearby, so I had to take him back. He could hardly 
breathe when I got him to the poste de secours. Lucky 
devil! He will get a month's rest, but I miss him like 
anything, as friends are pretty scarce around here. 



FROM THE LETTERS OF H. W. FARNSWORTH, *i2 

When the European War began, Henry Weston 
Farnsworth, '12, was in Mexico as a correspondent 
of the Providence Journal. An eager lover of life 
outside the beaten paths, he had already seen 
something of one war — in the Balkans — and had 
published a book, " The Log of a Would-be War- 
Correspondent." Again he set out for Europe, and 
before the end of 1914 found himself in Paris, a 
candidate for enlistment in the Foreign Legion of 
the French Army. The following passages from his 
letters between January i and September of 191 5 
will give some glimpses of the heroic service in 



HENRY W. FARNSWORTH, '12 143 

which he met his death at Tahure on September 29, 
1 9 1 5 . His schoolmate at Groton and fellow gradu- 
ate of Harvard, Victor Chapman, '13, whose own 
death in the French aviation service nine months 
later is recounted in the later pages of this book, 
was also a member of the Legion when Farnsworth 
fell, and on November 2, 191 5, wrote thus of his 
death to Groton School: " I suppose you have 
heard by now that Henry Farnsworth was killed 
in Champagne in the last days of September. A 
brave fellow he was and a gallant one. The two or 
three times I met him at college he made little im- 
pression; but in the months I knew him in the 
Legion, I respected him and enjoyed him more and 
more. When everything was going badly, ... he 
was always optimistic, serene, and an immense 
moral force in his company. ^ Leave the Legion ? 
Never! ' When we were transferred to the 2°"® de 
Marche and the true Legion, then he was exultant. 
Many of the 2°"® felt insulted to be put with the 
* desperate characters,' but he only told them since 
they had come to fight they should be the more 
happy to be put with the most fearless — perhaps 
the most famous regiment in France, since the 9th 



144 WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION 

of May and the i6th of June. I knew he could 
have wished for nothing more glorious than to die 
as he did when the fitrangere covered itself with 
honor on the 29th. The Tirailleurs Algeriens 
jQinched on the right, but his battalion went on 
and was demolished." 

The ensuing passages from Henry Farnsworth's 
letters to his family shall be anticipated by no more 
than a single, censored passage from one of them: 
" If anything happens to me you can be sure that 
it was on the way to victory, for these troops have 
been . . . but never beaten." 

Paris, January i, 1915. 

I AM trying to join the Legion. Of course, I may have 
to drill for two, or even three months, and that will 
delay matters; but on the other hand, a company of 
recruits was sent right into the first line after two 
weeks' training, to replace a company that had been 
wiped out. The new volunteers in the Legion — those 
that joined during the month of September — were 
sent forward in November and have had heavy losses. 
That may mean that we shall be wanted to fill up gaps. 
At the worst we are bound to take part in the big 
spring campaign when the serious offensive begins, and 



HENRY W. FARNSWORTH, '12 145 

with a stroke of luck I might be in at the death — the 
Prussian death, that is. 

January 5. 
I GO into barracks here in Paris, and, as soon as a 
company is ready, on to the front. The joining was to 
me very solemn. After being stripped and examined 
as carefully as a horse, and given a certificate of " apti- 
tude,'' I went to another place and was sworn in. A 
little old man with two medals and a glistening eye 
looked over my papers, and then in a strong voice 
asked if I was prepared to become a soldier of France, 
and, if asked to, lay down my life for her cause. Then 
I signed, and was told to report the next morning, and 
be prepared to start training at once. Lately I have 
come to love Paris beyond all cities, and now I 
think in a dim way I can understand how the 
French love it. 

Paris, January 9, 191 5. 

I HAVE now been five days in the Legion, and am be- 
ginning to feel at home there. We are at present in the 
barracks of Reuilly, but already there is talk of going 
to the front. . . . 

As for the Legion — as far as I have seen it so far 
— it is not much like its reputation. ... In the first 
place, there is no '' tough " element at all. Many of the 



146 WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION 

men are educated, and the very lowest is of the high- 
class workman type. In my room, for instance, there 

are " Le Petit Pere U ," an old Alsacian, who has 

already served fourteen years in the Legion in China 
and Morocco; the Corporal L , a Socialist well- 
known in his own district; E , a Swiss cotton 

broker from Havre; D C , a newspaper man, 

and short-story writer, who will not serve in the Eng- 
lish Army because his family left England in 1745, 
with the exception of his father, who was Captain in 

the Royal Irish Fusiliers; S , a Fijian student at 

Oxford, black as ink; H , a Dane, over six feet 

whom C aptly calls, " the blond beast " (Vide 

Zarathustra) ; von somebody, another Dane, very 

small and young; B , a Swiss carpenter, born and 

bred in the Alps, who sings, when given a half Htre of 
canteen wine, far better than most comic-opera stars 
and who at times does the ranze-des-vaches so that even 

Petit Pere U claps; the brigadier M , a little 

Russian; two or three Polish Jews, nondescript Bel- 
gians, Greeks, Roumanians, etc. I already have 
enough to write a long (10,000 word) article, and at 
the end of the campaign can write a book truly 
interesting. . . . 

We live in the Caserne de Reuilly in the barracks of 
the 46th regiment de ligne, a very well-known regiment 



HENRY W. FARNSWORTH, '12 147 

who have been in all the wars since 1650, and have 
their campaigns painted on the wall. Also it is the 
oldest and most uncomfortable barracks in town. It 
is about a mile from the Place de la Bastille and in the 
quartier du Faubourg St. Antoine. We rise at 6.30, 
drink one cup of coffee, and drill from 7.30 to 9.30, 
good fast drill with guns at the regulation French 
" carry arms," a hellish position, most of the time. 
At 10.30 la soupe, and rest until 12.30. Then drill till 
3.45, clean arms, more soup at 5, and freedom till 
8.30. It is hard on those in soft condition, but easy 
for the others. . . . 

C is a really interesting man; Harrow, and 

then all over the world in most capacities. He never 
mentions it, but I suspect from certain tricks of the 

trade that I picked up from R , whom he knows, 

that he is no stranger to the British secret service. His 
acquaintance in Paris is of the amusing type. He has 
already taken me up to the Daily Mail ofhce — where 
I met some very nice men, among others, S. Ward 
Pryce, whom I knew slightly in Turkey, and Rourke, 
whom I knew pretty well in Vera Cruz and Mexico. 
All these people seem to respect us very much for 

joining the Legion. C is not over respectable, 

from the New York, New England standpoint, but he 
is a man and a gentleman, for a' that — Scotch of 



148 WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION 

course, by descent, although of French upbringing, in 
spite of an English school. 

L , our Corporal, is also worth knowing — of 

Belgian descent, although in Paris since six years of 
age. He is of the type which brought victory to the 
French Revolution. Wounded at the beginning of the 
War, he asked to go back to the front; but when re- 
quested to stay and drill recruits, he accepted on the 
condition that he might remain a corporal. He does 
not approve of authority, and if all men were like him 
it would not be necessary. Like all Sociahsts he likes 
to argue. Last night, after the lights were out, he 
began to argue with the cotton broker and became 

very heated. So much so that C was afraid of bad 

blood. The broker had announced himself as a radical 

anti-clerical. Finally C made himself heard, and 

L , angrily asked him his party. ^' French Tradi- 
tional RoyaHst," repHed C ; and L gave up 

with a good-natured laugh. Extremes met. B 

began, " Nous sommes tons les freres,^^ the Legion's 
song, and all passed over. 

March, 1915. 

When I wrote to Mother last, bombs were bursting not 
far away, and two of the bunch had already been 
slightly hurt, but I was not yet a soldier. Now I am; 
having just come back from four days in the trenches. 



HENRY W. FARNSWORTH, *I2 149 

At the moment I am sitting in the sun and writing on 
the back of a biscuit tin, which came last night to 

S . The idleness is explained by the fact that six 

of us are mounting guard in a Httle wood outside of the 
village. I have been washing clothes all the morning, 
and am now about to cook some macaroni, also the 
property of S . The same kind soul has also pro- 
vided me with some good cigarettes. There is a little 
hint of warmth in the sun — only random rifle shots 
and a distant battery, and the quacking of wild ducks 
breaks the silence. 

... I have not the time here to try to put you in 
the full atmosphere of the trenches and their sensa- 
tions and reactions. You read the papers and know 
that there is a deal of mud and water and cold, and 

not overmuch room. S , C , and myself are 

stationed in an avant petit poste. Our cabin was 10 
by 5 by 4, and, all of us being lazy souls, filled with no 
ordinary clutter and dirt. All day we slept, ate, 

cleaned our trenches and rifles, and smoked S 's 

tobacco. Then came the magic of the nights. At sun- 
down we began to do sentry, hour on and hour off till 
daylight. We were about 50 metres from the German 
trenches, and not allowed to shoot (why I don't know). 
As the night grows and you stand crouching and 
watching for any sign of life ahead of you, the very air 



I50 WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION 

seems to come to life. All is still, nobody talks above a 
whisper, and all lights are out. From trenches, all along 
the maze of line, shots crack out and stray impersonal 
bullets whiz by on unknown errands. A huge rocket 
candle shoots up and hangs for a moment above the 
earth lighting up a section of the country; big guns 
boom out, and shells, like witches riding to a feast, 
whiz by. Sometimes with a whistle and bang a half 
dozen "75's'^ swoop over like a covey of devil's quail, 
and we stand crouching and watching for any sign of 
human life. It never came. Just the impersonal bang 
and whistle. 

I must do my cooking now and leave a lot unsaid. 
We go again to the trenches in two days. . . . 

May 19, 1915. 
I AM writing once again from a new cantonment, this 
time after six days in the trenches. Thank God, the 
repos of our regiment is over. They woke us up at 
three one morning. " Allez hop! Sac au dos et en 
route.'' We trooped off on a hot, muggy morning, and 
did thirteen kilometres before the grande halte which 
was held in a small village. Here for the first time it 
was definitely known that we were bound to relieve a 
battahon of Tirailleurs Algeriens in trenches, some 
twelve kilometres further on. We ate and lay about on 



HENRY W. FARNSWORTH, '12 151 

the grass all the afternoon, and at seven heaved up our 
sacks once more and went off at the command, " Pas 
de route. En avant marche,'' which means a long jour- 
ney ahead. In the gathering darkness we passed 
through a couple of villages where the Tirailleurs were 
drawn up on both sides of the streets. As the stars 
began to come out we approached a black Pelleas et 
Melisande sort of forest with high towering oaks and 
small young birches, and beech in amongst. We pass- 
ed through a high gateway of ancient brick, with the 
top of the coat of arms shot off by a shell. Inside the 
woods it was so dark we had to go in single file, each 
holding to the back of the other's pack. Big guns were 
pounding occasionally in their mysterious way, and the 
big war rockets at times sent their light flickering 
through the trees so far over our heads. In time we 
came out on a brick wall, pierced with loop-holes and 
shattered by shells. All was dim in the starlight, for 
there was no moon. There the boyau began, two kilo- 
metres of it, narrow and deep. Before our backs broke 
we came to our trenches, and found the Arabs already 
at the entrance with their sacks beside them. In 
silence we threw our packs on the cabins allotted. The 
most of the sections slept, and our squad took the 
guard. The Arabs went off wishing us good luck, and 
once more after six weeks I was alone under the stars 



152 WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION 

— peculiar gun-broken silence, watching my section, 
leaning on my rifle watching the rockets and thinking 
long thoughts. . . . 

May 30, 191 5. 

... Of the last six days in the lines rien a signaler, 
except two patrols which lacked nothing but the Ger- 
mans to make them successful. Between the lines is a 
broad fertile field of beet sugar and clover. It grows 
high enough to hide a m.an crawling on his stomach, 
and in spots even on all fours. It is here that the 
patrols take place. The first was an attempted am- 
buscade. Fifteen of us, with an adjutant, a sergeant, 
and two corporals, went out and hid in a spot where 
Germans had been seen twice before. None appeared. 
The next night seven of us were detailed to carry 
French papers, telling of Italy's declaration of war, 
into the German lines. We crawled from nine o'clock 
till 11.30, and succeeded in sticking papers on their 
barbed wire. They have since then steadily ignored 
them, much to our disgust. 

There is a certain fascination in all this, dull though 
it may seem. The patrol is selected in the afternoon. 
At sunset we meet to make the plans and tell each man 
his duty; then at dark our pockets are filled with 
cartridges, a drawn bayonet in the belt, and our maga- 



HENRY W. FARNSWORTH, 'l2 153 

zines loaded to the brim. We go along the boyau to the 
petit poste from which it is decided to leave. All along 
the line the sentinels wish us good luck and a safe 
return. In the petit poste we clamp on the bayonets, 
blow noses, clear throats, and prepare for three hours 
of utter silence. At a word from the chief we form 
line in the prearranged order. The sentries wish us 
luck for the last time, and the chief jumps up on the 
edge of the trenches and begins to work his way 
quickly through the barbed wire. Once outside he 
disappears in the beet weeds, and one after another we 
follow. Then begins the crawl to the appointed spot. 
We go slowly with frequent halts. Every sound must 
by analyzed. On the occasion of the would-be ambush 
I admit I went to sleep after a while in the warm fresh 
clover where we lay. It was the adjutant himself who 
woke me up with a slight hiss, but, as he chose me 
again next night, he does not seem to have thought it a 
serious matter. Then too, once home we do not mount 
guard all the rest of the night and are allowed to sleep 
in the morning; also there are small but pleasing dis- 
cussions of the affair and, above all, the hope of some 
night suddenly leaping out of the darkness, hand to 
hand with the Germans. . . . 



154 WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION 

June 4, 1915. 

. . . There are obvious drawbacks to being a soldier 
of second class, but I was always a runner after the 
picturesque, and in good weather am not one who 
troubles much where I sleep — or when, and the 
picturesque is ever with us. 

It so happened that the Captain was pleased with 
our bringing the papers to the Germans, and gave the 
seven of us twenty francs to prepare a little fete. 
What an unforgettable supper! There was the Ser- 
geant, Z , a Greek of classic type who won his 

spurs at Zanina, and his stripes in the Bulgarian cam- 
paign. Since he has been a medical student in Paris — 
that to please his family, for his heart runs in different 
channels, and he studies music and draws, in his spare 
time. From the amount he knows I should judge that 
" spare '' time predominated. We first fell into sym- 
pathy over the Acropolis, and cemented a true friend- 
ship over Turkish war songs and Byzantine chants, 
which he sings with a mournful romanticism that I 
never heard before. Then there was N , the Com- 
pany Clarion, serving his twelfth year in the Legion, 
an incredible little Swiss, tougher than the drums of 
the fore and aft, and wise as Nestor in the futile ruses 
of the regiment. 



HENRY W. FARNSWORTH, '12 155 

The Corporal, M , a Legionary wounded during 

the winter, and cited for bravery in the order of the 
army — he was a commercial traveler in his native 
grand Duchy of Luxembourg, but decided some five 
years ago to leave his debts and troubles behind him 
and become a " Petit Zephyr de la Legion Etrangere " ; 

S , a butcher from the same Grand Duchy, a man 

of iron physically, and morally and mentally unimport- 
ant; C , a Greek of Smyrna who might have spread 

his silks and laces at the feet of a feudal princess and 
charmed her with his shining eye and wild gestures, 
into buying beyond her means: he also has been cited 

for reckless gallantry. S and myself brought up 

the list. We were all in good spirits and flattered, and 

I being in funds, put in 10 francs and S the same. 

Some of us drank as deep as Socrates, and we ate a 

mammoth salad under the stars. N and M 

talked of the battalion in the Sahara, and Z sang 

his eastern songs, and even S was moved to Ton- 

gan chants. Like Aeneas on Polyphemus Isle, I feel 
that some years hence, well out of tune with all sur- 
roundings, I shall be longing for the long warm summer 
days in northern France when we slept like birds under 
the stars, among congenial friends, when no man ever 
thought of the morrow, and you changed horizons with 
each new conversation. . . . 



156 WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION 

June lo, 191 5. 

... I wrote E how S and I fell in for the 

job of observaleur. It was decided after the first night 
that the roof where the post was situated was insuffi- 
cient. Shortly after finishing my letter to E , the 

Captain came along and sent us out to hunt up a 
better place. We at once seized on the belfry of the 
ruined church, and found that, though in a terribly de- 
lapidated state, it would still bear our weight on the 
very top. The view from there was excellent. At 
night-time we mounted for the first time, accompanied 
by the Russian corporal in charge of us. He turned 
out to be what we'd call a " married man," meaning 
one with whom the thoughts of wife and family weigh 
more than the " lure of danger.'' The wretched man 
protested bitterly, but we had already boosted up 
straw into the room under the belfry, and there was 
nothing for it but to let us sleep there. Not a shot 
was fired all night long and the night after we went up 
in the fortified tower which the artillery had just given 
up. To the north of us the French have made a suc- 
cessful attack, and to the south there has been terrible 
rumbling of heavy artillery. 

I suppose some day it will have to be our turn. 
When it does, everything being comparative, I am 



HENRY W. FARNSWORTH, '12 157 

more and more sure that I shall be able to give a good 
account of myself. . . . 

August, 191 5. 

. . . The other day we were waked at 2 a.m. and at 
3 sent off in a pouring rain for some indefinite place 
across the mountains for a divisional review. We 
went off slowly through the wet darkness, but about 
dawn the sun came out, and as is usual with the Legion, 
everybody cheered up, and at 7 a.m. we arrived at the 
parade ground, after fifteen kilometres, in very good 
spirits. The two regiments of Zouaves from Africa 
were already drawn up. We formed up beside them 
and then came the two Tirailleurs regiments, their 
colors with them, then the second fitrangere, 2,000 
strong, and finally a squadron of Chasseurs d'Afrique. 
We all stacked arms and lay about on the grass till 
8.30. Suddenly the Zouave bugles crashed out, sound- 
ing the " garde a vous/^ and in two minutes the divi- 
sion was lined up, every man stiff as a board — and all 
the time the bugles ringing angrily from up the line, 
and the short staccato trumpets of the Chasseurs 
answering from the other extremity. 

The ringing stopped suddenly, and the voices of the 
colonels crying, " Bayonnettes aux cannons/' sounded 
thin and long drawn out, and were drowned by the 



158 WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION 

flashing rattle of the bayonets going on; a moment of 
perfect silence and then the slow courtly sounding of 
the " general, general, qui passe, " broken by the 
occasional crash as regiment after regiment presented 
arms. Slowly the general rode down the lines with the 
two brigadiers and a division general in his suite. 
Then came the Defile. The Zouaves led off — their 
bugles play " A tu vu la casquette, la casquette.^^ 
Then the Tirailleurs playing some march of their own, 
slow and fine, the bugles answering the scream of the 
Arab reed flutes as though Loeffler had led them. Then 
the Legion, the 2™® Etrangere, swinging in beside us 
at the double, and all the bugles crashed out with the 
Legion marching song " Tien?, voild du boudin pour 
les Beiges, y en a pour les Beiges y en a parce que'ils 
sont des tons soldats — pour les Suisses y en a et 
les Alsatiens, Lorraines, etc." — on and on, went the 
bugles, playing that light slangy tune, some of the 
verses of which would make Rabelais shudder and the 
minor variations of which bring up pictures of the Le- 
gion marching with thin ranks in foreign, blazing lands, 
and the drums of which, tapping slowly sound Hke the 
feet of the regiment scrunching through desert sand. 

It was all very glorious to see and hear, and, to wind 
up, the Chasseurs went by at the gallop, going off to 
their quarters. To wind up the day, the Colonel took 



HENRY W. FARNSWORTH, '12 159 

us home straight over the mountain — fourteen kilo- 
metres over mountain goat tracks. When we got in 
at 3.30 P.M., having had nothing to eat but a bit of 
bread, three sardines, and a finger of cheese, few of 
the men were really exhausted. It was then I got 
your letter about the training camp. Really it did 
make me feel a bit superior and make me think less 
than ever of our military system — and if possible, 
more of the French. I don't think any other army 
would have done it on the food ration we did, and even 

S admitted that it was doubtful if many English 

regiments would have done it under any condi- 
tions. ... 

September 23, 1915. 

We are now moving again, and I have hopes that the 
repos is over. To be sure, we are not up to anything 
very exciting as yet, only trench-digging in a section 
duller than any as yet seen, but once out of the infernal 
village, I have hopes that we will not go back there. 

As usual we left at 2 a.m., and marched under a full 
moon through a misty sunrise and on into the early 
heat of the morning, doing twenty-seven kilometres. 
There we stopped for the night, and went on at i a.m. 
the next day, the Captain wearing his Moroccan 
burnous and looming ghostly white at the head of the 
company. We did thirty-one kilometres, much of it 



i6o WITH THE FOREIGN LEGION 

up and down steep hills, and some of the men got sore 
feet and fell out. I was so glad to hear the booming 
of the cannon again that I was more than healthily 
weary of the sac, and could have done ten or fifteen 
more in the afternoon after a " grande halte.^' . . . 

The surroundings here are no more sordid than those 
of the common soldier anywhere, and as long as you are 
soldiering, I think it as well to do it with people who 
are soldiers to the very marrow of their bones. As for 
my " refinement " and fears that I may lose it, my 
hands are in poor form, rather toughened, and natur- 
ally I have picked up a lot of argot, otherwise I have 
of late been reading Charles Lamb, Pickwick, Plu- 
tarch, and a deal of cheap French novels, and " War 
and Peace," over again. If I see we are to spend winter 
in the trenches again, am thinking seriously of writing 
to London for a pair of real waterproof, and practical 
boots, and some Vicuna underwear. H. G. Wells's 
" Ann Veronica " I found interesting, though it was 
trite and irritating at bottom. I wonder if you remem- 
ber it. I wish from time to time you would send me 
one novel that you find interesting. Books are too 
heavy to carry when on the move, naturally either in 
French or English. The State of the German Mind, 
Plato or Kant, are not necessary for the moment, and 
I have read Milton, Shakespeare, and Dante. 



FROM A ROYAL FIELD ARTILLERY 
LIEUTENANT 

CHARLES D. MORGAN, '06, has had the 
double experience of serving with the motor 
corps of the American Ambulance Hospital and as 
a lieutenant in the Royal Field Artillery of the 
British Army on the Western Front. At the be- 
ginning of July, 1916, early in the drive on the 
Somme, he received injuries described officially as 
^' gunshot wound, multiple, slight," and was taken 
to a military hospital at Rouen, whence he was 
moved to London. In August he was awarded the 
Military Cross. The following passages from 
letters to members of his family afford glimpses of 
his experiences, both at the front and in the 

hospital. 

November 7, 191 5. 

... I went last night to a cinema show in a neigh- 
boring town. One entered mysteriously from a muddy 
dark street, through an estaminet, and along a narrow 
passage. Suddenly one was ushered into a large audi- 

z6i 



1 62 FIELD ARTILLERY LIEUTENANT 

torium thronged with fully a thousand soldiers — gray 
with smoke. A balcony for officers around the walls. 
We saw Charley ChapUn and the others — the Tom- 
mies thoroughly enjoyed it. I find that the music-hall 
company I heard the other night is entirely made up 
from men and officers of the Sixth Division. They 
were really remarkably good — all professionals and 
semi-professionals in peace-time, I should think. 

November 29, 1915. 

... I am very busy at present, as F , the senior 

Sub. in this section, is on leave, and I am on the move 
every day keeping the old ship " full and by." There 
are a thousand details of internal management which 
are petty in themselves, but keep one on the jump. 
The standard set for the British officer is unquestion- 
ably very high. He must always personally supervise 
every detail of the nourishment and comfort of his 
animals and men, and never allow his own comfort to 
come first. This takes a bit of learning, for the civilian 
mind. It is certainly a good training in self-denial and 
though tfulness for others; and my first impulse, I am 
sorry to say, is often wrong — the lingering, reflex- 
action of bachelordom and self-indulgence. . . . 

I had a rather busy night on Friday with a fatigue 
party to dig a telephone-wire trench. There was more 



CHARLES D. MORGAN, b6 163 

or less stuff coming down — of all kinds, each one with 
a different noise; while numerous of our own batteries 
were loosing off unexpectedly from neighboring hedges 
under our noses. The effect on the nerves, one realizes 
when one gets back to quiet billets, and feels a sort of 
let dov/n and '^ thank-God- that's-over " feehng. 
However, the danger in this sort of party is compara- 
tively small. It is surprising how many shells it takes 
to kill or even wound one man. . . . 

January 3, 191 6. 

We had expected to go out of action today, but now 
find that we are to be kept in a week longer. It is hard 
on the men who have had a pretty bad doing in this 
position since October. However, our casualties have 
been very slight. 

I find my nerves very much better than those of the 
men who have been out here longer — it gives me confi- 
dence, and makes me feel that I can be of good to the 
battery. 

The routine here is pretty strenuous in one way, and 
slack in another. As we are short-handed, and have 
night turns at the trenches, at the guns, and at the 
observation post as well, it means most nights without 
much sleep, fully dressed. That is the worst side of it. 
On the other hand, there is almost nothing to do 



1 64 FIELD ARTILLERY LIEUTENANT 

throughout the day, even when on duty at the 0. P. 
[Observation Post] or trenches, and the time of actual 
fire is small. One cannot venture out for a walk, or 
even walk about the gun position more than is actu- 
ally necessary, for fear of detection; so that there is a 
good deal of time for reading and letter-writing. The 
lack of exercise is the chief draw-back to such days. 

My turn in the trenches was most interesting. One 
lives with the infantry ofhcers, and takes part in their 
regular trench life, so that one feels very much a part 
of it. Those of the battalion who were in the other 
day — one of the Lincolns — were first-rate chaps. 
They are the cheeriest people in the whole show — in 
fact, the nearer you get to the line, the better spirits 
you find, from Boulogne eastward. They all live in 
dug outs, of course, and have a rather more spacious 
one for the men. Our dinner on New Year's Eve was 
quite a feast, followed by bridge, and topped off by a 
bit of a ^' Strafe " on the part of the " Huns ", to which 
our heavy guns replied. Today I am on duty in the 
0. P., and we have been doing what is called register- 
ing our zone for the benefit of an ofiicer of the incoming 
battery — that is to say, we fire at longer intervals over 
our allotted target, and carefully watch the burst of 
the shells through our glasses. Of course, this zone has 



CHARLES D. MORGAN, '06 165 

by this time been so carefully registered that there is 
practically no correction to make. . . . 

April 12, 1916. 

... I am still in the trenches on my twelfth day — a 
bit long for one's first tour, but I have had excellent 
weather — today the first rain — and comparative 
quiet ^ shellatively ' speaking. The machine-gun fire 
at night is very obstreperous, but I stick close to my 
smoking hearth, and Hsten to them patter outside. My 
dug out is really a very strong one, but has the chill of 
death unless the stove is going. As we get practically 
no fuel, and the Httle that comes is non-igniting coke, 
I have domestic cares. . . . 

I have moments of loneHness up here; but I have 
only to pick up my telephone to listen to a concert 
which one of the telephonists in an adjoining station 
gives on his mouth organ for the benefit of all the other 
stations on his circuit. After each number, there is a 
frantic buzzing of Morse code, " splendid," " encore," 
etc., from the auditors. 

When the concert is not in progress, one can listen 
to priceless dialogues between the telephonist here and 
his mate back in the subsidiary line who will later 
bring up the rations. What these rations will consist 
of is topic A — matter for a good half hour's conversa- 



1 66 FIELD ARTILLERY LIEUTENANT 

tion; topic B is their next leave, and what they will 
do thereon. . . . 

There are many compensations for the discomforts 
and hazards of this job. (i) You are largely your own 
boss. (2) You get (when the relief is properly organ- 
ized) six days out of twelve absolute rest, well back 
in comparative comfort. (3) You are " strafing the 
Hun." (4) If you are looking for ribbons, there are 
lots of decorations knocking about. 

You have greatly exaggerated ideas of the dangers 
of the gun itself. It is largely a matter of care and 
proper preparation. In a well-made position, the de- 
tachment are all well under cover when the gun is fired. 
Besides which, the officer is usually some distance away 
observing the fire on the front parapet. Retaliation 
from the Hun is the chief danger, but he finds it very 
difiicult to absolutely mark down a position. If he 
comes near, the position is shifted. ... 

July 1, 1916. 

I HAVE come through a very trying and critical period. 
We have been on the go for about eleven days; and I 
believe my battery (little 174) has done itself proud, 
and performed satisfactorily the task allotted to it. I 
have never had so much responsibility, or slept so 
little for days on end; but somehow I seem to have 



CHARLES D. MORGAN, '06 167 

come through extraordinarily well — just a healthy 
tired feehng. I hope to see my way clear to put in for 
leave very soon. It must, of course, depend on mihtary 
events. I am beginning to feel rather hopeful about 
the course of things in general — it is something to 
have seen the " Hun " on the run, and to view trenches 
once held by him, running over with British troops. I 
have seen many extraordinary and never-to-be-for- 
gotten things — it seems very often that life cannot 
possibly hold more, but new marvels befall the next 
moment. My men have been a source of inspiration 
to me. One couldn't do anything but one's best, 
amongst such a splendid lot; and in humor and re- 
partee they are a constant deHght. I am sorry to say 
I have lost several — some of the finest lads I had — 
and in a rather horrible way. You will know all about 
it some day. I have never found any of them wanting 
at a pinch, and feel really proud to be in command of 
them. . . . 

Hospital No. 8, Rouen 

You mustn't worry at all about me — it is in no way 
serious. I am what might be called " peppered," a 
number of small shrapnel wounds all over my body. 
No vital spot was hit. I narrowly missed losing an 
cyCj by about a quarter of an inch, and my note-books 
stopped another one from going into my chest. 



i68 FIELD ARTILLERY LIEUTENANT 

I am en passage at No. 8 General Hospital at Rouen, 
and shall probably be sent to Blighty today. I should 
be quite fit again in a fortnight, I should think, and 
then I shall need quite another fortnight for the dentist 
— two lower teeth knocked out by one hit in the 
mouth. I was lucky in being right in the thick of the 
big push. It was a most tremendous experience, much 
of which I try not to let my mind dwell on. My men 
did well, and when their regular task was finished, 
volunteered to help bring in the wounded. 

I shall have at all events a much-needed rest, but 
strangely enough, I kept very fit to the last. . . . 

July 13, 1916. 

... I was lucky enough to be in the " Big Push " on 
the Somme. It was a wonderful experience, but one 
which I shouldn't care to go through very often; and 
from which I am quite content to rest awhile in a 
comfortable bed with a few "cushy" wounds (you have 
read the Junior Sub., so you know what that means). 

Lord and Lady Aberconway have turned over this 
big house as an officers' ward. They continue to live 
here, and are most solicitous of their guests' comfort, 
and every evening make the rounds of the beds. . . . 

I shall soon be up, depending somewhat on whether 
or not they deem it necessary to operate on my leg. 



CHARLES D. MORGAN, '06 169 

I am full of small splinters, most of which work out 
of their own accord. Every morning now I can pluck 
a " fragment from France " from an arm or a leg. 
I got one through the lip, which knocked out a couple 
of teeth, but fortunately left my tongue whole, to wag 
on as heartily as ever. 

The invalids' regime here would turn our American 
dietitians quite green with dyspeptic horror. We have 
an enormous English breakfast: porridge, fish, bacon, 
and mushrooms — or some such horror; coffee, and rolls 
and jam. Lunch! A hearty English lunch of very 
high specific gravity, and aggravated at the end by 
quantities of sweets, and fruits, and cheeses. A five- 
course dinner — wine with all meals. But although 
rigorously English in design, the cooking is so super- 
excellent that I suspect the chef of having a little Latin 
blood in his veins. . . . 

It took me five days to get here, including twenty- 
four hours in the Casualty Clearing Station, where I 
was shoved into a lonely tent on a stretcher and for- 
gotten — my only companion a poor Tommy, hit in 
the throat, who was raving continuously. Fortunately, 
I had brought my servant, and he purloined cups of 
tea and crusts of bread; and finally brought my case 
to the notice of the C. 0. Although the tent was full 
of nice white beds, all empty, I was kept on the 



170 FIELD ARTILLERY LIEUTENANT 

beastly stretcher on the purely academic theory that I 
was taking the next train. Finally, after three trains 
had gone without me, they compromised so far as to 
lift the stretcher on top of the bed. However, one must 
make every allowance in a time of great stress like this 
when there are thousands of wounded pouring in every 

day. . . . 

July 14, 1916. 

... I shall never regret going into this show. The 
inspiration of the men under one is enough in itself to 
make it worth while. They are really splendid — far 
ahead of their ofhcers, I fear, in relative efficiency. And 
so far as it is possible in this selfish world, we all feel 
we are fighting more or less for an ideal. It stirs 
inarticulately even in the breast of the Tommy, I 
think. . . . 



THE MILITARY HOSPITAL UNITS 

THE work of the successive Hospital Units 
despatched from the Harvard Medical School 
for service at a British mihtary hospital in France 
has been touched upon in the Preface. The names 
of the men who have served in the so-called First, 
Second, and Third Units will be found in the Kst at 
the end of this volume; the general nature of the 
work they have done is described in an article writ- 
ten for the Harvard Alumni Bulletin by Dr. David 
Cheever, '97 (m.d, '01), Chief Surgeon of the Sec- 
ond Contingent of this service. It may be taken 
as fairly representative of the work of all the Units. 
The special service of the Dental men has won a 
peculiar distinction for Harvard. Its character is 
clearly suggested in an article contributed by Frank 
H. Cushman, d.m.d. '15, to the Bulletin, A brief 
passage from a letter to the Bulletin by Dr. William 
Reid Morrison, '10, on ^' Baseball and Surgery in 
France,'' presents a pleasant bit of relief in the 
record of exacting labors. 

171 



172 THE MILITARY HOSPITAL UNITS 

THE HARVARD UNIT IN FRANCE i 

By David Cheever, '97, M.D. '01 {Chief Surgeon, Second 
Contingent) 

The second contingent of the Harvard Surgical Unit 
has now been for three months in the field in the ser- 
vice of the British War Ofl&ce, and the few of its mem- 
bers who were able to give only three months' service 
having just returned, it is possible to give the readers 
of the Bulletin a little idea of how the enterprise has 
fared. 

It will be remembered that the original Unit under 
the leadership of Dr. Edward H. Nichols, '86, who was 
later succeeded by Dr. W. E. Faulkner '87, conducted 
a British Base Hospital in France for the three months 
of July, August, and September of last year. It had 
been the plan to have the work carried on from that 
time by Units from other medical centres, but owing 
to certain unforeseen circumstances and an unavoid- 
able change in the conditions of service, this succession 
had to be abandoned. It became a matter of giving up 
the project entirely, or of its continuation by Harvard 
alone. It was decided to adopt the latter course, and 
after some correspondence with the British War 
Office as to the conditions governing the advent of a 
^ From Harvard Alumni Bulletin, April 5, 1916. 



DAVID CHEEVER, '97 173 

new Unit, the enlisting of another group of men, and 
their leadership, were committed to the writer. 

A group of thirty men, about one-half holders of 
degrees from Harvard and the others volunteers from 
other medical schools, were enHsted, and also thirty- 
six nurses, to take the place of an equal number of the 
first contingent, who wished to terminate their stay 
abroad. These men included specialists in surgery, 
medicine, and X-ray work, dentists, an opthalmolo- 
gist, an aurist, an orthopedist, and a bacteriologist. 
The party sailed on the Steamship '^ Noordam " on 
November 17th, and reached England without mishap 
on November 27th. 

The Unit was organized exactly like a Base Hospital 
in the British regular service, that is, the chief surgeon 
ranked as a Keu tenant-colonel, and the other men 
received ranks as majors, captains, and lieutenants, 
according to the duties which they were to perform. 
A regular commission was not given, because, natu- 
rally, the men did not give up their American citizen- 
ship, which would have been necessary in order to 
receive commission under the Crown; but relative 
rank was given in accordance with the plan pursued in 
such cases by the War Office. 

A stay of ten days was made in London, in order to 
enable the men to procure their uniforms, which in 



174 THE MILITARY HOSPITAL UNITS 

every respect corresponded to the British regular 
officer's uniform, except in the absence of certain 
insignia indicating a commission under the Crown. 

Advantage was taken of this time to visit the Lon- 
don hospitals, other places of civil and military inter- 
est; and one day was devoted to a visit to Oxford 
where Sir William Osier, in the uniform of a colonel of 
His Majesty's Forces, devoted the entire day to guid- 
ing the visitors about Oxford, entertaining them at 
Christ Church, and later at tea with Mrs. Osier. 
The characteristic ending of the day was a most 
enjoyable and informal talk by Sir William on the 
most notable books marking epochs in the history of 
medicine, copies of all of which were found in his 
library. Later, also, the Unit was most hospitably 
entertained at luncheon by the Harvard Club of 
London, presided over by J. H. Seaverns, '8i. 

The Unit crossed the Channel on December 9 to 
find that the exigencies of the mihtary situation had 
made it necessary to move the 22nd General Hospital 
from its summer quarters to winter quarters in two 
large empty hotels, not far distant from Boulogne. 
This change involved the reduction in the number of 
beds available, and as the Unit was therefore some- 
what over-manned, certain of the officers, at the 
request of the War Department, were detailed for ser- 



DAVID CHEEVER, '97 175 

vice in other hospitals. Officers thus detached found 
great pleasure and profit in the intimate association 
with the work of the purely British Units, and there 
was no complaint because they had been separated 
from the Harvard Unit. 

A few days of organization and preparation were 
necessary in the new quarters, and the first convoy of 
sick and wounded from the front was received on 
December 15, and from that date forward new con- 
voys were received, at irregular intervals, but usually 
as frequently as three times a week, until a total of 
some one thousand four hundred patients had passed 
through the hospital during the first three months. 
Throughout this period, as the readers of the Bulletin 
know, there was comparative quiet on the Western 
Front, that is, there were no actions of any magnitude, 
and for that reason, the resources of the hospital were 
never strained. It was noticeable, however, that the 
authorities always gave the hospital fully, if not more 
than, its share of the wounded, and thus kept it busily 
occupied. 

It would be out of place here to discuss the profes- 
sional aspects of the work. As would naturally be 
expected in the winter season, probably one-half the 
cases were sick rather than wounded, these cases con- 
sisting chiefly of bronchitis, pneumonia, rheumatism, 



176 THE MILITARY HOSPITAL UNITS 

digestive disturbances, febrile diseases, usually of the 
para-typhoid type, and various complaints associated 
with the peculiar conditions of life in the trenches, 
and rightly or wrongly attributed to them; designated 
somewhat vaguely as '^ trench feet," " trench fever," 
" trench nephritis," and the like. The wounds were 
almost entirely due to high explosive shell fire, ma- 
chine-gun and rifle fire, and bombs, the proportion of 
injuries by shrapnel being comparatively low, owing 
to the fact that there is a great preponderance in the 
use of high explosive shells over shrapnel. There were 
practically no bayonet or other wounds sustained in 
personal encounters, owing to the fact, as stated above, 
that no great action took place. 

One of the interesting but sad experiences was the 
arrival in one of the earlier convoys of a large number 
of " gassed " patients, that is, soldiers suffering from 
an attack by asphyxiating gases launched by the Ger- 
mans in the neighborhood of Ypres. Naturally, with 
them as with the wounded, the most serious cases died 
either in the field hospitals or at Casualty Clearing 
Stations before it was possible to transport them to a 
Base. Consequently, cases arriving at the 2 2nd Hospi- 
tal were of a comparatively less severe type. They 
presented a distressing picture of acute bronchitis, with 
incessant cough, difficulty of breathing, and lividity. 



DAVID CHEEVER, '97 177 

Five of these cases died at the hospital in spite of 
everything that could be done to save them, and the 
remainder made slow recoveries, although, even after 
they were ready for discharge to England, they were 
far from completely recovered. With the exception of 
a few similar cases, arriving at a much later date, this 
was the only group of " gassed " men with whom the 
Unit had to deal. And, owing to the efhciency of the 
anti-tetanic and anti-typhoid inoculations, no cases of 
tetanus, and no undoubted cases of typhoid fever came 
under the observation of the Unit. A good many cases 
of para-typhoid, closely allied to true typhoid, were 
found, and had to be transferred to a special hospital 
for contagious diseases. There was no death from 
an anaesthetic, and the total mortality of the cases 
under the charge of the Harvard Contingent was 
considerably less than one per cent. 

From the purely professional side, it may be said 
that the medical officers gained much experience in the 
best and most expeditious and practical methods of 
handling the wounds common to modern types of 
warfare, and especially the complications caused by 
severe infections, and by extensive injuries to bone. 
They also gained much insight into the practical 
details of the organization and administration of a 
hospital of this type. The dental surgeons found a 



178 THE MILITARY HOSPITAL UNITS 

large field of usefulness in caring for the badly neg- 
lected teeth of the average enlisted man, and those 
who were so fortunate as to be detailed to work with 
Dr. Kazanjian of the Harvard Dental School, at his 
clinic attached to a neighboring hospital, were able to 
bring him material aid in the splendid work which he 
and his assistants are doing in the repair of destructive 
injuries of the jaws. 

On the human side, it is certain that every member 
of the Unit had an experience which he will remember 
for the rest of his life. Although he was but on the 
fringe of the great conflict and not even within sound 
of its guns, the reaHties of the war were brought home 
very strongly. 

One of the most satisfying and pleasant features of 
the experience was the sincere appreciation which was 
manifested in every way by the British officers, 
whether EngHsh, Canadian, or Australian, with whom 
the members of the Unit came in contact. The Briton 
is not given to complaining and asking for help, but 
when help is proffered by citizens of a friendly nation, 
no one could be more frank and expressive than the 
Briton in showing his appreciation of it. Let it not be 
thought that the Harvard Unit served in other than a 
neutral capacity, bringing aid to the wounded and 
suffering irrespective, of nationality, as opportunities 



DAVID CHEEVER, '97 179 

came their way. It was natural, however, that racial 
affiliations and personal feelings of most of the members 
caused them to feel and express the warmest S3niipathy 
with the British cause and the soldiers fighting for it, 
and they were made to feel, at every opportunity, the 
gratitude and appreciation of those they were aiding. 

On the departure of the Unit from the winter quar- 
ters, above described, to summer quarters elsewhere, 
the medical consultants of the Boulogne Base, Colonel 
Sir Almoth Wright, Colonel Sir Bertrand Dawson, 
Colonel Lister, and Colonel Fullerton, together with 
all the principal officers of the Base as guests, gave 
them a compHmentary dinner, at which sentiments 
were expressed which made the members of the Unit 
feel that their services were given a higher value than 
they deserved professionally, and that their motives 
in bringing aid were well understood and thoroughly 
appreciated. It was perhaps the most satisfying aspect 
of the experience of the Unit that they could justly 
feel that they constituted a small but effective centre, 
diffusing the true feeHng of sympathy and understand- 
ing which exists between most Americans and most 
Englishmen. This could not be better exemplified 
than by the cordial relations existing between the 
members of the Unit and the Administrator of the 
Unit, Colonel Sir Allan Perry. 



i8o THE MILITARY HOSPITAL UNITS 

The Unit, as stated above, is now under canvas and 
occupies nearly the same location that it did last sum- 
mer, and the writer has been succeeded as Chief Sur- 
geon for the three months ending June 9 by Dr. W. E. 
Faulkner, '87, who most unselfishly volunteered to 
return, in spite of the many personal considerations 
which must have impelled him to remain at home. 

The British War Office informed the writer that the 
work of the Unit is a real help, that its services are 
needed and that the authorities hope that these ser- 
vices can be continued indefinitely. It is planned, 
therefore, to despatch a new contingent^ to begin 
service June 9, succeeding the present one, whose term 
will then expire. 

HARVARD DENTAL SCHOOL GRADUATES IN 
FRANCE 2 

By Frank H. Cushman, D.M.D. '15 

When in June 191 5, the First Harvard Surgical Unit, 
for work in the war zone, was being organized, the part 
that dental surgeons might play in the work of war 
hospitals was just beginning to be realized. Extensive 

'^ This contingent was duly despatched, with Dr. Hugh Cabot, '94, 
as chief surgeon. In September the next contingent, with Dr. Daniel 
F. Jones, '92, as chief surgeon took up the work. 

2 From Harvard Alumni Bulletin, May 17, 1916. 



FRANK H. CUSHMAN, D.M.D., '15 181 

work in the treatment of mutilated mouths, and in the 
preparation of the soldiers' mouths for the unfavorable 
conditions of Hfe at the front, had already been under 
way for some time in the German army. Among the 
French, too, it had been recognized, and, in addition to 
the French dental surgeons, several American dentists, 
among them. Dr. Stuhl, D.M.D. '05, and Dr. Potter, of 
our own administrative board, had been doing admir- 
able work at the American Ambulance at Neuilly. 

Just what might be the conditions in the British 
army, with which the Unit was to work, was not at the 
time known here, but arrangements were made for 
taking three Harvard Dental men, with all necessary 
equipment, since modern trench warfare had been pro- 
ductive of so many head-wounds, which, if not fatal, 
generally involved the jaws. 

No account of this work can be given without special 
mention of Dr. Kazanjian, Senior Demonstrator of 
Prosthetics at the Harvard Dental School, and in 
charge of all fracture cases there. Surely no better 
selection could have been made for the position as 
leader and organizer of the work than he. Dr. Ferdi- 
nand Brigham and I were fortunate enough to be 
detailed as his assistants. 

Upon the arrival of the Unit in France, dental con- 
ditions were found to be much worse than expected. 



1 82 THE MILITARY HOSPITAL UNITS 

Whereas it was reported that with the original Ger- 
man army invading Belgium as far back as August, 
1914, there were five hundred dentists, there were 
among all the British troops in June of last year, but 
fifteen! Even allowing that these reports were some- 
what exaggerated, the scarcity of men, combined with 
the terrible condition of the mouths of the ^' Tom- 
mies," was nothing short of appalling. Preparations 
for the furnishing of dental supplies were also very 
incomplete, and this, combined with the lack of facili- 
ties such as electricity, gas, and water, made the work 
even more difficult. 

Work was begun, however, with such facilities as 
were at hand or could be devised. Until it became 
known throughout the district that fractures of the 
jaws were being treated by the Harvard Unit, much of 
the work was concerned with the extraction of teeth 
and the making of artificial dentures. The original bad 
condition of the men's mouths, combined with the lack 
of opportunity at the front for proper cleansing and 
the unhealthful water which the troops are obliged to 
drink, made it necessary, during the summer, to send 
increasing numbers back to the base for dental treat- 
ment alone. The use of novocaine in all cases of extrac- 
tion is new to army methods and to the men, and does 
much to expedite and facilitate the work. Septic 



FRANK H. CUSHMAN, D.M.D., '15 183 

roots in the mouth were early recognized by the medi- 
cal men as a causative or contributing factor in many 
cases of arthritis, gastritis, and ear and nose affections, 
and the cleaning up of mouths came to be regarded in 
the hospital as part of the routine treatment. Appal- 
ling as it seems in the light of dental education in 
America, a British army order provides that no man 
with two teeth, one on either jaw, which occlude, shall 
be furnished by the government with dentures. This 
means, of course, that only those in most desperate 
need of artificial teeth are provided with them, but 
even with this limitation, two laboratory men are 
kept constantly busy on this sort of work. 

The most important phase of the work of the dental 
men in the Unit was, of course, the treatment of the 
cases of fracture of the jaw, and before the work was 
long under way, many cases of this sort were being 
brought in from the front, and from other hospitals. 
The injuries are often very extensive, involving, in 
addition to the jaws, other parts of the face and 
cranium. External wounds necessitate an entire 
change of procedure from the methods used in jaw 
fractures in civil hospitals. Owing to the drainage of 
saliva through these wounds, the sepsis is wide-spread 
and persistent. Too much credit cannot be given to 
Dr. Kazanjian for the masterly way in which these 



1 84 THE MILITARY HOSPITAL UNITS 

cases are being handled. Each new case requires the 
devising of especial appliances to fit its particular 
needs; but this Harvard man is always found equal to 
every occasion. The hearty co-operation received 
from surgeons and medical men is proving most helpful 
in the successful carrying on of the work. 

That the value of the work is not going unrecognized 
is proved by the mention of Dr. Kazanjian in the des- 
patches of January i for distinguished service. At the 
beginning of October, when the Unit was disbanded, it 
was urged from the War Office that the work be not 
discontinued, and that Dr. Kazanjian and his two 
assistants remain, with the promise of the increased 
facilities of a building equipped especially for jaw sur- 
gery. Permission was also granted to keep the patients 
longer than the three weeks allowed other cases. 

The consideration given the patients themselves does 
much to popularize the work among them. Of all the 
fracture cases treated during the summer and winter, 
only one man expressed a desire to be sent to England 
before the completion of his work, and a letter was re- 
ceived from him shortly after his return home, asking 
that steps be taken to secure his transfer back again. 

The cheerfulness and courage of the men themselves 
should not go unrecognized. Such pluck as that of a 
nineteen-year-old Irish boy with eye and nose gone, 



FRANK H. CUSHMAN, D.M.D., '15 185 

both jaws broken and two bullets through one arm, who 
always felt, " In the pink, thank you, sir ! " or the Scotch 
lad with both jaws fractured, and a bullet through his 
chest with a consequent very severe pneumonia, whose 
invariable answer to inquiries was, "Champion, thank 
you, sir! ", did much to make the work easier. 

When it became known in September that the Unit 
was returning to America the following month, the 
parents of one of the patients even tried to arrange for 
the discharge of their son from the army, so that he 
might return to Boston to continue his treatment with 
Dr. Kazanjian. 

The arrival of the second Harvard Unit added three 
more Harvard Dental men to the work: Drs. R. S. 
Catheron, C. F. MacDonald, and J. F. Dillon. Drs. 
Dillon and MacDonald are with the Harvard Unit, 
while the other three men are occupying the splen- 
didly-equipped building in the English Hospital to 
which, on account of the increased facilities, the jaw 
work was transferred in December when the Harvard 
Unit was moved into cramped winter quarters. The 
equipment of the building is all that could be desired, 
electricity, running hot and cold water, and all the 
facilities procurable for carrying on the work in any 
temporary hospital. The dental staff comprises, 
besides the three Harvard men, two mechanics, two 



1 86 THE MILITARY HOSPITAL UNITS 

operating-room nurses, and nurses and orderlies for 
the two wards of about forty beds. 

Altogether, between July 20 and December i, over 
one thousand two hundred cases of all kinds received 
treatment, varying from a single visit to work covering 
daily attendance for several months. Careful records, 
including charts, pictures, plaster models and casts of 
the teeth and faces are being kept, and will be added to 
the Dental Museum of Harvard. The work is draw- 
ing extensive interest from men in the medical service, 
many visitors coming to the hospital, and Dr. Kazan- 
jian is called on for numerous clinics before the field 
medical societies. The work is pursued in the name of 
the " Dental Unit of Harvard University," and the 
coming summer should see its extent and scope much 
broadened. 

Such results as these could not have been attained 
but for the energy and devotion of Dr. Kazanjian and 
the hearty cooperation of medical men and those in 
higher authority in the medical service. There is 
much need for this sort of work, and the supply of 
men who can do it is limited. It is therefore to be 
hoped that, although the school is losing the active 
help of Dr. Kazanjian, he can be kept where he is, 
doing perhaps a higher service and bringing to the 
school much credit. 



W. R. MORRISON, 'lo 187 

SURGERY AND BASEBALL IN FRANCE ^ 

By William Reid Morrison, '10 

2 2D General Hospital, 

British Expeditionary Force, France, 

May 28, 1916 

. . . During March and April, much snow and rainy 
weather were encountered, but we managed to keep 
reasonably warm in our tents. This month, the 
weather has been excellent, allowing our baseball team 
to round into shape. 

We are very proud of our Harvard Unit players, 
organized among the medical officers in this hospital. 
The opening game of the season was played last week, 
with a team from Canadian Number One Hospital, 
and it attracted a large crowd of medical officers, 
sisters, and patients from surrounding hospitals. 

Many of the spectators had never seen a baseball 
game, and it was indeed a novel experience for them. 

The Harvard nine started off with a rush, scoring 8 
runs in the first inning, and knocking the Canadian 
pitcher out of the box. We won handily by a final 
score of 16 to 8. 

A return game was played on the Canadian field a 
few days ago, and we were vanquished by a score of 8 
^ From Harvard Alumni Bulletin, June 21, 1916. 



i88 THE MILITARY HOSPITAL UNITS 

to 5. In this game, our surgeon-in-chief, Dr. Faulkner, 
put aside his lieutenant-colonel's uniform, and proved 
to be a heavy hitter, and good base runner, as well as 
an able second baseman, and much credit is due him 
for the team's good performance. We play a third 
game next week, and hope to win again. . . . 

The surgeons and medical men have had a valuable 
service, with many interesting experiences, and we, as 
well as the nursing sisters, have been very glad to do 
what we could for the sick and wounded. 



THE DAY'S WORK IN AN AMBULANCE 
CORPS 

AGAIN it is time to remind ourselves that there 
is another American Ambulance Corps besides 
that of the American Ambulance Hospital in Paris, 
namely the American Volunteer Motor- Ambulance 
Corps, formed and directed by Richard Norton, 
'92. Passages from two of his letters have already 
been given. Two others must now be brought for- 
ward, the first to Mr. H. D. Morrison, the Honor- 
able Secretary and Treasurer of the Corps in Lon- 
don — a letter in which the general character of the 
service is memorably described — the second to 
Mr. Norton's brother, EHot Norton, '85, describing 
a day at Verdun no more remote than mid- June of 

1916. 

France, February 15, 1916. 

Dear Morrison: The letters which have been 
received from American applicants to join our Corps 
since the British Red Cross refused to allow English- 
men of military age and qualification to work with us 
have been very numerous, and I have found them, as 

z8g 



igo THE DAY'S WORK 

a mass, so interesting that I have sent most of them to 
the office to be filed. It is evident, however, that there 
are many misconceptions in the minds of our com- 
patriots regarding our work, and it is in the hope that 
you may be able to clear up some of these that I now 
write you. 

... It is not surprising that we receive letters from 
quantities of persons who are firmly convinced that 
their mere desire to help in our work is all that is 
needed to make them of use to us. Of course, and this 
is natural enough — in fact, could hardly be otherwise 
— their ideas of the work of an ambulance corps are 
based on accounts of battles, as this is about all the 
newspapers put before them. The fact is, however, 
that what nowadays are considered battles occur only 
at long intervals, and most of the time the ambulances 
are performing an essential, but by no means thrilling, 
service among the field hospitals and along the line 
where, although the fighting never ceases, things are 
generally comparatively tranquil. Especially is this 
so in the winter months, during which both last year 
and this there has been no attempt at a great offensive, 
by either side, on the Western front. It isn't that the 
armies couldn't fight if they wanted to; the Russians 
show us well enough that they could. But for one 
reason and another, probably because the English 



RICHARD NORTON, ^92 191 

have not been ready, they don't. So our work goes 
along quietly for the most part, and there is many a 
day when the men don't have enough to do to keep 
them from thinking of their discomforts. These are 
really nothing very bad, but still a volunteer from 
another land, one who is not fighting for his own 
people, has to have a strong sense of the ultimate value 
of the work he has chosen to do to enable him to forget 
them. That, I find, is the most serious trouble with 
any of the men who have been with me. When, as 
last September, there is heavy fighting, they are as 
keen as possible and take all the various risks and 
troubles in the most pleasant spirit. But when, as 
sometimes happens, the Corps is en repos they get 
restless and don't know what to do with themselves. 
For this reason, among others, I don't want you to 
send out volunteers who are too young. It is not that 
they lack courage, but that is a quaHty we are not 
often called upon to show. What this work chiefly 
demands is resource. Our men are not like the soldiers 
constantly under the eye of an officer, but are generally 
dependent on their own intelligence for the conduct of 
their work. Such driving as we do was never conceived 
of by motorists before this war. Borghesi's ride from 
Pekin to Paris was a summer day's excursion through a 
park compared to our job. Driving a car laden with 



192 THE DAY'S WORK 

men whose lives depend on reaching the hospital as 
soon as possible is a considerable responsibility. When, 
in addition, they have to be carried along roads, or 
more Hkely mere trails, that are being shelled or maybe 
swept with rifle fire, often at night, with no Hght, and 
through the unending crowd of moving troops, guns, 
ammunition and revictualling trains, the responsibility 
is considerably increased. A man must keep absolutely 
cool and his temper unruffled, and he must be able to 
size things up so as to do the best he can for his load of 
fading lives. Experience of life is what is needed to do 
this successfully, and that is just what a youth has not 
got. Of course, there are the rare exceptions, and we 
are lucky in having some of these, where imagination 
and instinct take the place of experience. But you 
cannot count on a youth having these, and I have no 
time to test them, one by one, to see if they will take 
the bit; so don't send me boys unless you are dead 
certain of their quality. 

There are really three sorts of work we have to do. 
One is the risky and very hard work during a battle, 
such as my account of the Battle of Champagne gave 
you some idea of. The men who can do that success- 
fully will, when they get home after the war, be able 
to do anything from running a railway to managing 
an Art Museum. 



RICHARD NORTON, '92 193 

Then there is what might be called our regular job, 
the post duty, the daily going and coming from certain 
stations just back of the line to the hospitals with the 
occasional casualties. During the winter months one 
carries more sick and sorry than one does wounded, 
but there is a never-ending trickle of these latter. For 
the last few months, as you know, we have been work- 
ing along the Tahure to Mesnil front. There has been 
a very slight ebb and flow of the line, but on the whole 
it is a little more advanced than it was when the 
French got through pounding the Germans last Sep- 
tember. They certainly did give it to them then, and 
it is an open secret that had the English attack been so 
well conducted as the French, the line would be further 
forward than it is now. However, when it was over we 
sat down for the winter, and posts were arranged to 
which the wounded are brought. Just who picks out 
these posts I have never discovered, but the general 
rule is that they should be as near the actual fighting 
line as the condition of the roads and general safety 
permit the cars to go. We have served two such posts. 
One was all right, though, owing to the mud which 
prevented the close approach of our cars, the stretcher 
bearers had a weary long walk with their painful 
burden. The other, however, was to my mind most 
quaintly placed, as it was on the crest of a ridge and in 



194 THE DAY'S WORK 

plain view of the enemy. Though the doctors' tents 
and dug outs were sheltered by a cluster of pines, the 
coming and going of the cars were perfectly obvious 
and daily drew the fire of one of the enemy batteries. 
Some of the gunners were excellent shots, too, and 
although they never scored a bull's-eye, they made 
several " ringers " which spattered us with mud. 
Their favorite projectile was what is known as a 
" whiz-bang," a confounded thing that goes off with a 
peculiarly disagreeable crash at the same instant that 
you hear it. Now a respectably educated shell whistles 
as it comes, and gives you time, if you have wisely 
adopted the habits of the wood-chuck and don't go far 
from your hole, to make an Annette Kellerman dive. 
Maybe the tune it whistles is the " Last Rose of Sum- 
mer," but still you are at least on the way under- 
ground when it hits, and, such is the strange working 
of our minds, that gives one a great feeling of comfort. 
But these whiz-bangs were brought up on KuUur and 
come in without knocking. I hate them — in fact, I 
hate them all — I have collected many things in my 
life, but I was never born to be a conchologist. Some 
men tell me they get used to such things. I can only 
say I feel no symptoms of acquiring the taste. Well, 
so long as the doctors could stand this post on the hill, 
we had to. At both posts the men did duty for twenty- 



RICHARD NORTON, '92 195 

four hours at a stretch, and had tents pitched under 
the trees in which they cooked their picnic meals and 
took what rest they could. Most of the time it rained, 
and it was always cold. To my way of thinking a tent 
is a beastly thing. A considerable portion of my life 
has been passed in them, and no one can convince me 
they are anything but disgusting. I love to read about 
them in the summer magazines, when the wily Redskin 
is pursuing the heroic trapper, or the beauteous mil- 
lionairess heroine has fled from the seething city to 
soothe a broken heart, catching trout and a cold in the 
head by the pellucid lake — all that sounds lovely, but 
were I ever to play Redskin to the heroine I'd never be 
so mean as to ask her to pass the honeymoon in a tent. 
They are cramped in space; they leak; the wind loosens 
the ropes at night; they flap, they are damp in winter 
and hot in summer; they are harbor lights for every- 
thing that creeps or crawls within thirty miles; the oil 
stove explodes in them, and you spoil most of your 
bedding putting it out; and when anybody, whether 
an Arab or a Boche is trying to straf you, they are 
about as much comfort as an ice-cream soda to a polar 
bear. However, they are better than sitting in the 
mud, so at the posts we sit and get damp till the relief 
comes, and then hustle back to the base camp, where 
there are no satisfactory means of getting dry, but 



196 THE DAY'S WORK 

where you mop yourself up and steam over any form 
of fire you or your friends can produce. You see, 
there is not much in that kind of life but plain, hard, 
uncomfortable work. So anyone who thinks he is 
coming out here to wander over the stricken field doing 
the Sir Philip Sidney act to friend and foe alike, pro- 
tected from harm by the mystical light of heroism 
playing about his hyacinthine locks, had better stay 
home. This hero business will only win him the Order 
of the Wooden Cross. What one really does is to look 
like a tramp who has passed the night in a ditch and 
feels as though he were doing ten days '^ hard " for it. 
That is what the ordinary work is. 

Then there is the third kind, which is when we are, 
as now, en repos. No corps can go on indefinitely at 
the front. The men get worn out and the cars get out 
of order. During the early part of this winter our cars 
stood in the open where the mud was so bad that we 
often had to pull them out in the morning with the 
lorry before we could start. There was so little water 
that sometimes there was insufficient for the radiators. 
Under such circumstances cleaning the cars was 
entirely out of the question, and any but absolutely 
essential repairs had to wait till we could move some- 
where else. When, finally, we were relieved by a 
French convoy, only one-third of our cars could 



RICHARD NORTON, '92 197 

go, and several of the men were working on their 
nerve. 

We were sent a few miles back to the large farm 
where we now are. Here there is a splendid big barn 
with lean-to sheds round about, in which most of our 
cars are housed. There is plenty of water, as there is a 
large stream just beside the house, and the cars have 
been washed, springs mended, the engines cleaned, and 
everything possible done to enable us to work many 
months more before there will be need of another over- 
haul. For this sort of work you will easily understand 
that we must have men who know something about 
motors and who are ready to work on them themselves. 
A man who is unwilling or unable to help in the care of 
his car would be nothing but a nuisance to us. For a 
man who knows how to work there is always plenty to 
do, but the life of so-called repos here at the farm is 
decidedly monotonous. We never see outsiders, and 
we do not often get out of sight of the farm buildings. 
Chalons is not many miles away, but we only send 
there when we hear that one of our cars which had to 
be repaired at the army shops is ready for us, or when 
there is something to buy for the upkeep of the cars, or 
when a new volunteer comes to join us. Of course, the 
Government will give us anything we need for the 
upkeep of the cars, but one is allowed to apply only on 



1 98 THE DAY'S WORK 

certain given days of each month for certain things, 
while others are applied for on other days. This often 
means a delay of many days before one can begin to 
repair the car, because not only must the proper day 
of application be waited for, but several days elapse 
between the application and the arrival of the material. 
Consequently it is often best to send to Chalons and 
buy what is needed. We would send there oftener could 
we have more petrol, but while en repos we are allowed 
only twenty-five litres a day! As we have twenty-five 
cars, which have to be cleaned and tested in addition 
to routine work, every motorist will realise that we are 
much like interned prisoners. If this lack of essence 
merely meant our incapacity to get the mail or enjoy 
an occasional bath no one would mind, but its chief 
effect is to delay our work. . . . We have never yet 
been unable to do whatever work was asked of us, but 
this is because we have gone ahead on our own plan 
and bought from time to time many hundreds of litres 
of essence when we foresaw that we would be held up 
for lack of it. This is all dull to write, and dull for you 
to read, but perhaps it will make you realise that it is 
aggravating for the men to have to live through it, and 
you will understand why a mere general readiness to do 
anything is not the only or the most important 
characteristic that volunteers must possess. 



RICHARD NORTON, '92 199 

The foregoing will also make clear to you why we 
need neither doctors nor nurses. Our work is the trans- 
port of the wounded, and we provide no opportunities 
for either doctors or nurses to practise their ministra- 
tions. What we need are, first and foremost, good 
motorists, and it is practically essential that they 
should know some French. Many of the writers whose 
letters I have sent you express a delightful confidence 
that they can learn enough of the vernacular on their 
voyage out to render their service effective. It is a 
shame to dash cold water on such pleasing beliefs, but 
the fact is they are hopelessly wrong. They are like 
the man who, when asked if he played the violin, 
repUed, " I don't know; I have never tried." Still, the 
general spirit of the letters is fine. It is certain that we 
can get all the men we need if we can get others to give 
us money to bring them over, and I haven't a doubt 
there are plenty of people who cannot come themselves 
but who will be glad to send out someone else. . . . 
Always sincerely yours, 

Richard Norton. 



200 THE DAY'S WORK 

RICHARD NORTON TO ELIOT NORTON 

Verdun, June 15, 1916.* 

It is some time since I wrote, but we first were moving 
up here, and since arriving have had strenuous times. 
We are camped some five miles outside Verdun, where 
we have our permanent post; another is at a hospital 
between us and Verdun; while every night, as soon as 
it is dark, we send out eight cars to evacuate the 
advanced posts. This is extremely risky work and can 
only be done at night, owing to the road being in view 
of the Germans, who are not a kilometre distant. At 
night I have my ojB&ce, as it were, at Verdun, where 
L'hoste has his main post. Thence, as there is need, he 
and I go up and down the line of posts to keep the 
work moving. 

The advanced posts can be reached only at night, 
so, as there are only four hours of darkness, we are 
extremely busy. Two days ago we were ordered to 
evacuate one of these posts by day — a thing hereto- 
fore unheard of. Of course, I obeyed and sent the five 
cars demanded, following them up a short time after- 
ward. I arrived at the starting point to find the first 
car had been steadily shelled as it went along the 
road, that the second, containing Jack Wendell and a 
* Reprinted from Springfield Daily Republican, July 8, 1916. 



RICHARD NORTON, '92 201 

chauffeur named Hollinshed, had not returned from 
the trip, and that another car had gone to see what the 
trouble was. 

I started at once to go after the missing cars, but at 
that moment Hoskier, who had gone after Wendell, 
came hurrying round the corner. He told me that both 
Wendell and Hollinshed had been wounded, but not 
seriously, as they were putting some wounded in their 
car; that they were being cared for at the poste\ that 
they begged me not to come up till dark; that the 
authorities at the poste begged us to keep away for 
fear the poste would be shelled, and, lastly, he said it 
was obvious the Boches were laying for us, for they 
were shelling our road steadily. 

This was ob\iously the right thing to do, but Law- 
rence MacCreery at once asked to be allowed to go by 
the hoyau with his chauffeur; they would reach the 
poste as dark fell and would bring Wendell and Hollin- 
shed out on their car if that had not been destroyed. 
This they very pluckily did. I, meanwhile, had to 
report to the authorities, and got back just as Wendell 
and Hollinshed had been fixed up by the doctors. 
Wendell has a slight wound in the back, Hollinshed a 
rather more severe one in the shoulder. They be- 
haved in a way to give cause to their families to be 
extremely proud of them, absolutely refusing to return 



202 THE DAY'S WORK 

with Hoskier, but insisting on his taking the four bad 
cases they had gone to get. They will both be given 
the Croix de Guerre, and they well deserve it. 

Since then we have had one car blown to pieces and 
five others hit. Our Verdun post is shelled every even- 
ing, and one of the others was heavily peppered last 
night. The division has suffered heavily, and I do not 
think can stay more than a few days more. We can't 
either, if we go on losing men and cars at this rate. 

Till today it has rained steadily, which has added to 
our difficulties. However, we are sticking to it and I 
think will pull off the work all right. 



UNDERGRADUATES IN THE 
AMBULANCE SERVICE 

IN contrast with the reports from men of riper 
years, a letter to the Crimson from a former 
member of its staff, PhiHp C. Lewis, of the class of 
191 7, presents the first impressions of one who 
would normally have been passing through his 
junior year at Cambridge. 

Neuilly-sur-Seine, Paris, March 30, 191 6.* 

I'll start my story from the beginning in the hope 
that it may interest some of you in Cambridge. There 
were four of us on the '' Finland," George HoUister, 
Ray Baldwin, and Bert Williams, and the trip across 
was uneventful until we approached the danger zone, 
about forty-eight hours out of Liverpool. American 
flags were painted on both sides of the boat, fore and 
aft; these were illuminated at night by immense 
searchlights, as was the flag flying at the stern. All 
lifeboats were swung out on their davits ready to be 
lowered instantly. But nothing disturbed our peace- 
^ From Harvard Crimson, April 25, 1916. 
203 



204 UNDERGRADUATE SERVICE 

ful entry into Liverpool early in the morning of 
March 7. 

Here we struck our first war time red-tape, and for 
three hours we had our passports, credentials and 
baggage examined. By noon we were on our way to 
London, a five-hour ride. We reached there as night 
was coming on, and there we got our first impressions 
of " darkened London." All that has been written 
about it is no exaggeration. It seems impossible to 
believe that such an immense city could be so com- 
pletely darkened. Hotels and other large buildings 
seem like empty hulks, so completely do the heavy 
curtains shut in the light. The huge busses go about 
at their usual speed with lights even smaller than ordi- 
nary tail-lights. Horse-drawn vehicles have no lights 
at all. Street lamps are painted black, except for a 
three-inch band at the bottom. The whole effect is 
practically absolute darkness, and over it all, huge 
searchlights are continually on the watch for " Zeps." 

Before coming to England I couldn't conceive of a 
population in which every man of military age had 
joined the army — it seemed that there must be thous- 
ands who would lag behind. But to see London now 
is to be entirely convinced. There are three groups of 
men, those in uniform (home on leave), those wearing 
arm-bands showing that for some good reason they are 



PHILIP C. LEWIS, '17 205 

exempted, and the old men. We in civilian clothes 
felt painfully conspicuous and embarrassed — people 
would look at us curiously and scornfully. In London, 
as in Paris, women are seen doing men's work in count- 
less ways, on street cars, trains, in hotel offices, etc. 

After sundry delays, due to the necessity of getting 
French passports and vises for our American passports, 
we sailed from Folkestone for Dieppe, March 11, on 
the " Sussex," which was recently torpedoed, reaching 
Paris finally at i a.m. that night. The next week was 
spent in getting all our necessary credentials, getting 
our uniforms, taking driving tests, learning a little 
about repairs, etc. We met Walter Wheeler, Paul 
Tison and Julian Lathrop who had arrived a few days 
before. By March 15, Williams and Baldwin had gone 
to the front in the Morgan Harjes service, and Lathrop 
had gone to section No. i. I can't mention any names 
of places, so that will have to suffice. The rest of us 
had to stay on duty, although there was nothing to do, 
until we were sent to the front. 

The monotony was relieved by a dinner given by the 
Harvard Club of Paris, attended by about twenty- 
five, with Mr. A. P. Andrew, '95, as toastmaster. Har- 
vard, by the way, has made a remarkable record in this 
work. Although complete figures were not available, 
for the transportation department alone, out of two 



2o6 UNDERGRADUATE SERVICE 

hundred and fifteen college men enrolled, ninety are 
Harvard men. Yale and Princeton are next, with 
twenty-five and twenty-two respectively. This does 
not include the many Harvard graduates engaged in 
the executive offices, nor does it consider the Harvard 
Units. The hospital itself is a wonderfully complete 
one, especially when it is considered that it is a war 
hospital exclusively, established in an immense build- 
ing which was to have been a school. Every detail is 
complete — all the latest medical ideas are embodied 
here. Its capacity is about six hundred and fifty, only 
two hundred and fifty being cared for now. 

On March i8 I was sent here to Section No. i. 
HoUister and Tison are to go to Section No. 3, and Bill 
Crane, who came just before I left, was still unassigned. 
The other Harvard men here in this section are Lath- 
rop, Winsor, and Frank Magoun. There are twenty- 
three of us here and twenty machines, the last three of 
us being forced to wait a few weeks before getting cars 
of our own. Meanwhile, we are to go on all the routes 
without the trouble of caring for the cars. We live 
here about sixty kilometres from the lines, and on our 
three different routes we visit seven pastes de secours, 
one being eight hundred metres from the German 
lines, another slightly over a kilometre, the others 
ranging from one and one-half to three kilometres. 



JOHN F. BROWN, JR., 'i8 207 

One route entails night duty, and I went out on it the 
first night. We went by a plateau road furnishing us a 
wonderful view. Brilliant signal bombs were going 
up all along the semi-circle of hues, and then we could 
see the Ughtning-Hke battery flashes, white and red. 
On reaching the poste we were given some wounded 
and took them to another town to the hospital. 
Returning at about 11, we were sent off again with still 
more, returning at 3 a.m. to grab a three-hour nap. 
The next morning an immense English naval gun 
opened up behind us, and as the Germans quite natu- 
rally replied, I had my first experience of listening to 
the whistHng of shells over my head. Of course, there 
was no danger, for the Germans were after a mark 
about two kilometres behind us. I could tell many 
stories in connection with the wounded, innumerable 
examples of French courage shown to us every day, but 
I have gone on long enough. . . . 



FROM JOHN F. BROWN, JR., '18 

A FORMER member of still a younger class than that 
of the undergraduate whose letter has just been 
read kept a record of his experiences with Field 
Section No. i of the American Ambulance Hospital 



2o8 UNDERGRADUATE SERVICE 

Motor Service. From the diary of John F. Brown, 
Jr., 'i8, the following passages are taken: 



February ii, 1916. 

On service at V again today. . . . Yesterday 

was a pretty busy day. I was on No. i route. Made 
over 120 kilometres during the day. Ran through 

V three times; each time it was being bombarded. 

Less than five minutes before I pulled into the yard 
here for lunch two " 105's " hit the gate-keeper's lodge, 
which is connected with the stable where we sleep. 
All our men were at lunch and nobody was hurt. 

After lunch I got three couches at R for V . 

They were sheUing V when I passed through, and 

the only person I saw was an officer standing in a door- 
way. He waved us back, but we made a run for it. 
Smoke was pouring out of a Httle store that had just 
been hit. We crossed the bridge all right, although 
the shells were hitting uncomfortably close. 

The Boches dropped ^wt shells into C just as 

we got there, and we took out four blesses — one a 
four-striper. On the way home Nelson and I stopped 
for a few minutes on the plateau to watch the artillery 
duel below us. It was a weird and fascinating sight in 
the gathering darkness — the flashes of the French 



JOHN F. BROWN, JR., 'i8 209 

cannon outlined against the dark pines of the valley, 

and the breaking of the German shrapnel over R 

and F , the deep, dark red flashes of the French 

guns, and way over on the opposite plateau the bright 
flash of the bursting shells. 

As I am writing this I can hear the shells whistling 
overhead. This time they are higher up. These don^t 
screech — sound like an electric motor starting up, 
and then, as they go by, a whistle. I must admit it 
gives me a funny feeHng, especially as they are getting 
closer, and none of them are exploding, so you can't 
tell how really close they are. And I can't help think- 
ing of the two holes in the gate-keeper's lodge, and 
wondering if they still have that gun set. One of those 

shells a few feet further to the right or left, and ! 

It doesn't pay to get thinking of things like that. 
Nelson has just grabbed his helmet and gone out to see 
if he can see where any of them are landing, and I guess 
I'll go too. That's the funny part of it all, the shelling 
fascinates you, and you stand out in the open, hable to 
be hit at any minute, but perfectly happy as long as 
you can watch what is going on. 

February 13, 1916. 

Yesterday about two o'clock all the French batteries 
along this section opened up. It started all at once — 



2IO UNDERGRADUATE SERVICE 

an almost continuous roar, all sizes of guns; and every 
few minutes the machine-gun would rattle out, and 
this mingled with the rifle fire and the roar of the big 
guns was almost deafening. For two hours there was 
no let-up, and then the Germans answered. 

It got so hot in V that our men had to stay 

underground. At R several shells landed on the 

lawn in front of the hospital, and finally one tore its 
way into the operating-room and exploded there. 
Finally it was decided to evacuate the entire hospital, 
and our cars did the job without the loss of a man. 

At eight o'clock I had just finished a game of chess 
with " Huts " when orders for extra cars began coming 
in. Nelson and I went down at 8.30, and the shells 

were still coming in then. I took a post call to H . 

It was the first time I had ever been over that road, 
and I won't forget it in a hurry. The moon was shin- 
ing, and the road for the most part was very good. 
Here and there was a shell hole, or a piece of a tree in 
the road; and at one place an army wagon which had 
been demoHshed by a shell. We drove pretty fast, the 
hrancardier and I, for a line of brush screen between 
one and the mitrailleuse doesn't give one a very secure 
feeling. All the time the French artillery was firing 
over us, and the Boche shells were coming in. After 
turning the corner at H the road to the posle was 



JOHN F. BROWN, JR., 'i8 211 

very steep and rough. There were many shell holes 
and piles of brick and stone in the road. Here it was 
very narrow, and we had to climb it on low speed, it 
was so steep. We climbed through two rows of build- 
ings, but came to a place where there was a break in 
the buildings on the right. '' A little faster here, the 
mitrailleurs sweep the road at this point," said my 
comrade. We pulled up to the poste, and I shut the 
engine off, as it was boiling. There was no one in sight 
when we stopped, but the hrancardiers were waiting 
for us, and they brought our man from underground. 
As they were putting the stretcher in the car I could 
hear the bullets from the mitrailleuse and rifles smash- 
ing against the court-yard wall. My hrancardier 
looks at me and smiles. 

The Uesse is loaded slowly and carefully, and I am 
just cranking my car, when the doctor in charge of the 
poste walks out, shakes hands with me, thanks me for 
coming, and wishes me good luck on the return trip. 

As we shot down the hill, I couldn't help but think 
of that open space in the walls. '' The Boches are less 
than 300 metres from us at this point," said my com- 
panion. All the time we could hear the rifle bullets go 
" spat " up against the wall, and every few minutes 
the " plop, plop, plop " oi the mitrailleuse) and now 
there is no wall, and we hold our breath. Now we hit 



212 UNDERGRADUATE SERVICE 

a pile of bricks while trying to dodge a shell hole, and 

at last we turn the corner into H , and the walls 

again. A good straight road to V , and we make 

the most of it. Our blesse is to go to the hospital at 
C , " vitement.''^ He is hke most of them — badly- 
wounded and dead game I Not a sound as the car rolls 
and rocks down the road in the moonlight! 

February 17, 1916. 

I WAS on No. I again to-day. While at the hospital in 

V , I met a Harvard man (1910) who had been 

wounded three times and was just getting over an 
attack of fever; outside of that, as he said, he was feel- 
ing fine. He had served with the Legion. 

I saw one of the saddest sights today I have seen 
since I have been over here. I had stopped at the 

hospital in V to unload my sick and wounded. 

The last man to crawl out was forty if he was a day, 
and so sick that he could hardly walk. He was shaking 
with fever and couldn't stand up straight. It took him a 
very long time to get from the car to the hospital, even 
with my help. As I left him I pressed a franc into his 
hot and shaking hand, and said, ^^ pour les cigarettes. ^^ 
He looked at me with tears in his eyes, and as he 
thanked me and saluted, I turned away with my own 
eyes moist. I felt almost ashamed of being young and 



JOHN F. BROWN, JR., ^i8 213 

healthy, and of driving an ambulance. It is a crime 
to put men of that age into the trenches in the winter 
time! They can't stand the strain. I have seen it 
time and time again. It is bad enough to see a man 
wounded, but to see a man who hadn't been touched, 
all broken in health, and unable to hold his head up, 
that to me is the saddest thing of all. 

February 18, 1916. 

Yesterday the lieutenant got a letter from the 

Medecin-chef at R , commending the section for its 

" bravery and devotion in evacuating the wounded 
during the last bombardment of the V R sec- 
tor," and mentioning Woolverton [a Yale man] parti- 
cularly, as having '' several shells break very close to 
his machine." Of course, we are all pretty much 
pleased, and everybody is tickled to death that 
" Woolvy " was mentioned, as it means a " croix-de- 
guerre " for him. 

February 24, 1916. 

Had a call to the poste at V . After I had turned 

my car around at the poste, a doctor came to the front 
of the car and said. '^ We want you to wait about five 
minutes." Had I not seen that his arms were covered 
with blood, nearly to his elbows, I would have known 
by the quiet manner of the little group around the 



214 UNDERGRADUATE SERVICE 

door of the poste what the five-minute wait was for. 
I got out of the car and saw the bloody sac and rifle 
standing by the door, and the look on the faces of the 
men pausing on their way to and from the premiere 
ligne. But I arranged my stretcher and blankets and 
waited. At the end of a few minutes the doctor re- 
appeared and said, *' You may go now; he is dead." 
I asked him how it happened, and he said, as he 
shrugged his shoulders, *' Nobody knows. He lay in 
the hoyau for an hour and a half before he was found." 
He had bled to death almost within call of his com- 
rades. Just one more man who has died, without any 
mention of his name, even — for France. One more 
croix de hois in the ever-growing graveyard on the 
hillside behind the lines he had helped to hold in the 
attack last week. One more letter to a family stating 
that so and so had been killed in action on such and 
such a date. Sometimes we wonder how many crosses 
there are on the hillside behind the gray Unes of the 
Boches, and which group grows the more rapidly. 

We are all speculating on the attacks around Ver- 
dun, and what they signify. 



FROM THE LETTERS OF TWO 
AMBULANCE DRIVERS 

NO phase of the work of American volunteers 
in the European War has been described more 
fully than that of the ambulance drivers. Each 
one of them sees it from his individual angle of 
vision, and so contributes a fresh element to the 
general understanding of the nature of this perilous 
and most humane service. The following passages 
from intimate letters of C. S. Forbes, 'oo, and C. R. 
Codman, 2d, '15, with the motor corps of the Am- 
erican Ambulance Hospital, will yield the final im- 
pression — for this collection — of the work in 
which so many Harvard men have been engaged. 
The fight at Verdun is, more patently, the scene of 
Codman's experiences. 

FROM C. S. FORBES, '00 

March 3, 1916. 
I AM writing this in a stable alfresco with snowy sleet 
falling outside, and damned cold on the hands, so that 

21s 



2i6 LETTERS OF AMBULANCE DRIVERS 

if my orthography is not as perfect as usual you will 
know the reason. There is no light in our sleeping 
apartment, except that coming from a few small logs 
of wood burning in an open work stove, and from two 
small windows a foot square at each end of the vaulted 
old wine-cellar where we are quartered. There are 
about twenty-five other French soldiers sleeping there, 
and I trust it is bomb-proof, though this place is only 
shelled intermittently and has not been honored for 
about a week. 

This is one of our advanced posts, which our section 
maintains about half way between the trenches and the 
barracks where the main outfit is quartered. We stay 
here two days at a time, and four days at the other 
place, in rotation; and from these we serve a number of 
posies de secours or dressing-stations near the line and 
take the wounded to any of a number of designated 
hospitals in the vicinity. From this place we can only 
go forward at night, as the roads leading from here are 
under the direct fire of the enemy and it is not con- 
sidered healthy to venture out with such a valuable 
piece of property as a Ford. This is my first visit away 
from our barracks, so I am not able to give you any 
exciting details of dodging shells, but some of our fel- 
lows come in every day with stories of narrow escapes, 
most of which, I have no doubt, are fiction. Still it is a 



C. S. FORBES, 'oo 217 

wonder to me that none of our fellows have been hit. 
Last night the Boches turned a search-light into a 
French ambulance, on the road from here, and pep- 
pered it for two miles, but luckily did not touch it. 
They would, of course, like to do the same to us. 

I have not as yet come into contact with any distres- 
sing cases of wounded soldiers, but three men have died 
in our ambulances on the way to the operating rooms 
from the dressing stations within the last week. I am 
not looking forward to that sort of thing at ail. 

The village I am in is most picturesque, quite Swiss 
looking, with lots of muddy helmeted soldiers standing 
around the doorways and walking about the streets. 
All the moving is done at night. The country is quite 
hilly and when the spring comes it will be perfectly 
lovely, except for the constant reminder of war ever 
present. 

The other day I was at our other advanced post, 
where I walked in the daytime and had the pleasure of 
seeing a German aeroplane being shelled, with, how- 
ever, no tangible results. A battery of French " 75's '' 
was barking away, only a short distance away; but al- 
though you could hear the explosion of the shells in the 
distance, I could not realize that the thing was at all 
real. Last night we also had an interesting view of an 
aeroplane being shelled at night. We were just going 



2i8 LETTERS OF AMBULANCE DRIVERS 

into our dinner at 6.30 at our barracks when a rocket 
went up in the distance, and a few seconds later six or 
eight powerful searchlights began sweeping the skies 
for the German. Anti-aircraft guns also started shoot- 
ing, and the exploding of the shrapnel in the sky could 
be distinctly seen by the successive flashes. It seemed 
like some sort of gala occasion, and not at all that the 
purpose of the thing was really to kill some unseen cuss 
flying in the sky! 

April 9, 1916. 

Life here is quite monotonous at times, and at others 
as strenuous as anyone could wish. We are quartered 
at present in mihtary barracks, which we use as a base, 
and have two other more advanced posts much nearer 
the firing line. We stay four days at a time at one, and 
two days at the other, taking our turns in rotation. 
Going into statistics, there are twenty-one hospitals in 
our sector that we serve, and about eighteen dressing 
stations {pastes de secours.) It is at the advanced 
posts that our real interesting work takes place. At a 
great many points we pass over roads that are con- 
stantly shelled by the Germans, and some that are near 
enough to the enemy lines to be suicide to cross in day- 
time. These we have to reach by night, driving, of 
course, without any lights, and with as Httle sound as 
possible. This, I find most trying, especially on cloudy 



C. S. FORBES, 'oo 219 

nights, and worse still if it is raining as well. The roads 
near the front are, as you may imagine, none too good, 
and pitted at many unexpected spots with recent shell 
holes. As soon as it is dark, long trains of transports 
move forward to re-stock the Hues at the front, and 
troops straggle along to relieve the men in the trenches. 
As the drivers of the wagons seem to make a habit of 
driving on the wrong side of the road, you can imagine 
what fun it is trying to make any sort of time when you 
have a load of badly wounded on board. So far — so 
far, I repeat, as I expect to be less lucky — I have only 
been smashed into once. I had three wounded, on a 
very black night on a road which the stretcher-bearers 
cheerfully told me had been swept by machine-gun 
fire the night before, going along at a snail's pace, when 
a great sleepy drunken driver refused to give me room, 
and crashed into me. Great was my trepidation when 
I got out to find what remained. Visions of my three 
wounded marooned all night, and my car blown to 
pieces as soon as dawn broke, filled my more or less 
agitated brain, but great was my joy to find that, with 
the exception of a smashed mudguard, bent triangle 
and front axle, and broken radiator, the trusty Ford 
was able to limp safely into port ten miles away. 
Shells bursting anywhere near me fill me with the 
gravest alarm and dread. . . . 



2 20 LETTERS OF AMBULANCE DRIVERS 

German shells are most terrifying. You can hear 
them a fraction of a second before they burst. They 
come along with a sort of malicious hiss, a hiss full of 
hatred and death, then a BANG! that seems to pene- 
trate to your inmost soul — it is a BANG full of 
devilish purpose and hellish efficiency, a bang that 
intends to tear every shred of your living flesh to 
smallest fragments and blow what remains of your soul 
to the other side of eternity. In other words, they 
scare me to death, and I have no desire to stand up in 
the open amid a storm of shot and shell. As a matter 
of fact, I haven't met any soldier who hasn't the most 
profound respect for them, and the more experienced 
the man, the quicker he knows how to dive into a 
shelter hole. . . . 

May i8. 

I AM afraid I have nothing new to tell you. We are in 
the process of moving to another place, and conse- 
quently there is much excitement and movement. For 
the first time since being here, we have seen troops with 
fixed bayonettes marching behind bands, and flying 
standards, and have got a small glimpse of the old time 
picturesqueness and panoply of war; we had been 
seeing nothing but a lot of tired men straggling along in 
muddy old garments of every description. We have 
recently seen a lot of the Alpine troops around here, 



C. S. FORBES, 'oo 221 



and they certainly are a snappy looking crowd of 
youngsters — all with shad bellies — and their officers 
in particular are especially smart and well set up. 

Although work behind the front out of sound of the 
guns and shells seems comparatively dull, I shall not be 
sorry to go to new fields. It is not nearly so trying to 
my particular nerves to drive over roads which are 
supposed to be in a dangerous zone, as it is to go to 
places which you know are favorite spots for German 
shells, and where you have seen them burst time and 
again. When driving in those places, my terror does 
not seem to strike me in the pit of the stomach or any 
particular spot, but I get a feeling of general debility 
accompanied by distinct homesickness for dear Boston. 

July I. 

We are in a busy sector here all right. We are quar- 
tered in a tent, which leaks Hke a sieve every time it 
rains; and it has been raining steadily in buckets since 
almost B.C. We drive out every night, that is to say 
three nights out of four, to the posts at the Front which 
we evacuate. We make a half-way stop at another vil- 
lage about ten kilometres from the advanced posts. 
These ten kilometres seem more Hke a thousand when 
the Germans are shelling the roads, which is about all 
the time. This second village is apt to be bombarded 



222 LETTERS OF AMBULANCE DRIVERS 

with fairly heavy pieces, so that waiting around there 
for orders is no pleasant pastime. I saw a shell go 
through the roof of the house just opposite our cars, 
and next to the room where we have benches to sit on. 
It might just as well have been ten yards to the left 
and killed a lot of our men. The next night a large 
shell burst right in the middle of the street where our 
cars are lined up, but luckily half an hour before we 
arrived. It killed eighteen outright, and seriously 
wounded twenty-two others. The dead were all lined 
up on the street when we arrived, and presented a most 
ghastly appearance with their hideously atrocious 
lacerations. It was not a very pleasant sight to start 
off on our night's work, which is hard enough on the 
nerves without such side horrors. Although the Ger- 
mans do not necessarily aim individual shots at us, we 
follow the roads of the convoys that pass to and from 
this very active front — change of troops, artillery, 
and all the long re-stocking trains — and it is their 
object, of course, to destroy these communications; 
this is how we get it in the neck. There are two or 
three spots along the road which are particularly 
marked, and you can bet your boots that when we 
approach these places we put on full speed ahead as 
far as the shell holes in the road will allow, or the con- 
dition of the wounded in the car without actually kill- 



C. S. FORBES, 'oo 223 

ing them. On the way up there are also countless 
French batteries on both sides of the road, which 
naturally come in for attention from the Boches. 
Finally, when we get up to the poste de secours, which 
is quite high up a hill, we have to expect shells any 
minute that are aimed at a battery right next door. It 
is most nerve-racking work, and most terrifying. How- 
ever, when you are actually on the move, there is such 
a hell of a lot going on that you have Httle time to 
make psychological studies of your sensations. To 
begin with, there is the no mean task of steering your 
trusty Ford clear of shell holes and ditches, not such a 
cinch when it is raining cats and dogs, and it is blacker 
than the deepest dungeon. Last night the French 
section that shares the work with us had six big cars 
ditched, en route. 

When there is an attack on, the scene is quite inde- 
scribably unreal. The din is most awe-inspiring. 
Seemingly from almost every square yard for miles 
around the French guns belch forth a continuous 
stream of death into the inferno in front, and the Ger- 
mans answer in like manner with their shrieking and 
shattering shells. From all sides rockets shoot up into 
the sky as if celebrating some gala performance of the 
Devil himself. White rockets that remain in the air 
for about a minute, red balls of fire, green lights, great 



2 24 LETTERS OF AMBULANCE DRIVERS 

flares of bengal lights, and some great fiendish looking 
things, that zigzag across the sky like some gigantic 
snake. And then when all this bedlam dies down we 
get the miserable results that are carried in, covered 
with mud and blood. Human life is certainly cheap 
in these parts. I am quite surprised that I can look at 
all these bloody and dying men almost unmoved. 
Before I did this work the smell of an operating room 
would almost make me pass out. I don't know how 
much longer we are going to be on this front. I hope 
not too long, as it is beginning to wear on the nerves. 
We go out each night, expecting it to be our last, but 
somehow we get back all right. I trust our good luck 
will continue. 

FROM C. R. CODMAN, 2D, '15 

June 19. 
After an extremely interesting trip we have finally 
arrived at the hub of the western front. For the last 
week we have been pushing our way by stages along 
the main road leading to the city, which is jammed 
with traffic like Fifth Avenue at five o'clock. Day and 
night there is a ceaseless stream of trucks bringing back 
remnants of regiments, and taking up fresh ones. The 
road is pretty badly worn and the dust terrific. 

For the present we are encamped temporarily 
about ten kilometres from the city, waiting for our 



C. R. CODMAN, 2D, '15 225 

division to go into action. The surrounding hills are 
covered with tents and picketted horses, and in the 
evening, with the smoke rising from the camp fires, it 
looks quite Hke a scene from a Civil War movie. From 
the top of a near-by ridge, however, one gets a picture 
which is distinctly up-to-date, with balloons, duelling 
aeroplanes, and high explosive shells bursting on the 
cotes opposite. It is an extraordinary and exhilarating 
feeling to be actually taking in the greatest battle of 
history from a front-row seat, so to speak. 

Last night a few of us went in a staff car to look over 
the road which is to be our regular run. It was in- 
tensely interesting. The approaches to the city were 
seething with trucks and galloping artillery, and the 
noise of the bombardment deafening beyond all 
description. We passed through the city itself, which 
I can't describe, but which is unbelievably shattered, 
and out to a suburb on the other side where the real 
run begins. Here we waited for it to get entirely dark, 
as the road from here on more or less parallels the lines, 
converging towards them, and ending in a poste de 
secours which is only a few hundred yards from the 
trenches. All the way out the firing was uninter- 
rupted and appaUingly loud. The whistle of shells was 
a distinct novelty, though not a particularly pleasant 
one, but, as a spectacular performance, the incessant 



2 26 LETTERS OF AMBULANCE DRIVERS 

flashing of the guns, and the flare of star-bombs and 
multi-colored rockets made a really superb display. 
Those who claim that there is nothing picturesque 
about modern warfare are all off. It's gorgeous. . . . 

July lo. 
... I AM afraid I have not written for some time, but 
the last weeks have been strenuously busy as well as 
rather harrowing, and what time off I have had has 
been spent in dreamless sleep. Looking back on the 
ten days spent at Verdun, I feel that it was perfectly 
miraculous, our getting away with only one man 
badly wounded. Our run was from Verdun to Bras, 
over a road which was shelled intermittently every 
night. I have no right to describe the thing in detail, 
and in a way I would rather not anyway, as just now I 
am trying to forget it as much as possible. Of course 
it was a wonderful experience, and I would not have 
missed it for anything, but you can judge how lucky 
we were when I tell you that half the cars have holes in 
them from eclats, and that two or three men were 
grazed by shrapnel, one bullet actually lodging in 
Waldo Peirce's pocket-book in the most approved 
melodramatic manner. . . . 

I think the psychology of shells is rather interesting. 
At first, everything is so new and interesting and unbe- 



C. R. CODMAN, 2D, '15 227 

lievable that it seems as if it must be more or less pre- 
arranged and that a mere spectator is perfectly safe. 
Gradually, however, after a few come rather close, and 
you have seen other men hit, it dawns on you that you 
are really apt to get hit if you hang around long enough, 
and finally after being actually spattered, you become 
absolutely convinced that it is just a question of time 
when they get you. I know, towards the end, I was 
perfectly sure that I was not coming out of it alive. 

The night after our arrival the Germans launched a 
gas attack, which is about the most unpleasant thing 
imaginable. Fortunately, we had been equipped with 
gas masks that really fitted, and which were entirely 
effective, but it was impossible to see through them 
clearly enough to drive a car, so that when actually on 
the road we had to go without them. Most of the gas 
was of the ^ lacrimogene ' variety, which merely makes 
your eyes run and your throat sting, but out towards 
Bras one got a whiff of the chlorine, which is fearful. 
Many of those whom we brought in overcome died 
soon after in horrible agony. Altogether it was rather 
a depressing debut in the war zone. We all noticed as 
a curious after-effect of the gas, that for days after- 
wards cigarettes tasted like the most horrible sulphur 
fumes, and all liquor, like powerful acid, (which you will 
doubtless consider confirms the saying, "It is an ill 



228 LETTERS OF AMBULANCE DRIVERS 

wind," etc.). It was really an extraordinary experi- 
ence to be right in the thick of the most acute stage of 
this terrific battle. Second only to the wonderful forti- 
tude of the wounded, who are always magnificent, was 
the really heroic behavior of the brancardiers, who 
crawl out between the lines, and carry in wounded on 
their backs. To me it seems that their work requires 
more real courage than any other branch of the service. 
For the next few weeks we shall been repos while the 
division fills out its depleted numbers. . . . 



" LE ROI DE L'AIR EST ROYALE- 
MENT MORT " 

IN these words a Parisian journalist brought to 
an end his tribute to the Hfe and death of Victor 
Chapman.^ This young graduate of Harvard, of 
the class of 191 3, a son of John Jay Chapman, '84, 
was in Paris, studying architecture, when the War 
broke out. He enhsted at once in the Foreign 
Legion of the French Army, and rendered courage- 
ous, cheerful service in its ranks. When the Franco- 
American Aviation Squadron was formed in the 
spring of 191 5, Chapman attached himself to it, 
the youngest of the five Harvard men in the corps 
— Frazier Curtis, '98, Norman Prince, '08, Lau- 
rence Rumsey, '08, and E. C. Cowdin, 2d, '09, be- 
ing the others. Chapman's skill and intrepidity 
won him, among the French, the title of " le roi de 
Fair.'' The sheer joy of the perilous game he was 
playing, with all the devotion of a nature quickened 
by a deep sense of righteousness, imparts a color of 

* See L'Opinion, Paris, July i, 1916. 

23Q 



230 "LE ROI DE L'AIR EST MORT " 

its own to the pages of the following letter written 
to his younger brother in the month before that of 
his death. 

May 3, 1916 
Dear Conrad: Ha! A snooze and a warm bath at the 
cure house. Now, let's see — yesterday my machine 
not being ready, I took an old baby, sent for the 
M. F.'s to practise on: nice engine, climbs fine, just the 
thing to practise ' virages ' with, and make one at home 
in an aeroplane turning unusual positions. ' Kerage ' 
verticale; to the right, to the left; renverssemenl a 
' loopine '; up, up, upside down, motor cut waiting, wait- 
ing — I forgot to keep the broomstick on my stomach, 
so it did not finish, but began to corkscrew down, nose 
first. '' What the deuce ? " I thought, " ah, yes, the 
famous vrille one hears so much about." Whee, but 
she spins round! Here's where I apply the remedy — 
foot and hand to the inside to accentuate the swing and 
give it more impetus, hence control. Now straighten 
out with the feet and pull on the stick. There we are! 
Over switch, and on motor ! I'm very glad to have done 
it, for it is the worst thing that can happen; barring 
breakage in air. Now I know I can get myself out of 
any knots I may tie myself in while manoeuvring with 
a Boche. (I take it in a flight one's position towards 
the adversary must be of first importance, and that to 



VICTOR CHAPMAN, '13 231 

the ground, secondary). It was well I went well up to 
twelve or fifteen hundred metres before experimenting, 
for I was not more than five or six hundred when I 
came out. Some of the sharks, aces they call them 
here, do the vrille for fun, at fifty or seventy-five metres 
over the hangars. I have never seen it, but hear it is 
thrilling. Rather foolish though, for it strains the 
machine, and if one does it too near he dives into the 
ground like a bullet. 

But for this morning: Rockwell called me up at 
three, " fine day, get up! '' It was very clear, we hung 
around at Billy's, and took chocolate made by his 
ordonnance. Hall and the Lieutenant were guards on 
the field; but Thaw, Rockwell, and I thought we would 
take a " tour chez les Boches." Being the first time, 
the mechanaux were not there, and the machine-gun 
rolls not ready. However, it looked misty in the 
Vosges, so we were not hurried. '' Rendezvous over 
the field at a thousand metres," shouted Kiffin. I 
nodded, for the motor was turning; and we sped over 
the field and up. 

In my little cock-pit, from which my shoulders just 
protrude, I have several diversions besides flying. The 
compass, of course, and the map I keep tucked in a 
tiny closet over the reservoir before my knees, a small 
clock, and an aUimetre. But most important is the 



232 " LE ROI DE L'AIR EST MORT " 

contour, showing revolutions of the motor, which one 
is constantly regarding as he moves the manettes of 
gasolene and gas, back and forth. To husband one's 
fuel and tease the motor to round eleven takes atten- 
tion, for the carburetter changes with the weather and 
the altitude. 

Over the field we soared, and due east for B — . 
Twelve, sixteen, nineteen, twenty- two, twenty-four 
hundred metres — mounting well at one thousand one 
hundred and eighty turns. The earth seemed hidden 
under a fine web such as the Lady of Shallot wove; 
soft purple in the west changing to shimmering white 
in the east. Under me on the left, the Vosges, Uke 
rounded sand dunes cushioned up with velvety Hght 
and dark mosses (really forests). But to the south, 
standing firmly above the purple cloth like icebergs 
shone the Alps. My! they looked steep and jagged. 
The sharp blue shadows on their western slopes empha- 
sized the effect. One mighty group standing aloof to 
the West — Mont Blanc, perhaps. Ah, there are quan- 
tities of worm-eaten fields — my friends, the trenches, 
— and that town with the canal going through it 
must be M — . Right beside the capote of my engine, 
shining through the white silk cloth, a silver snake: 
the Rhine! " What, not over quarter to six, and I left 
the field at five! Thirty- two hundred metres. Let's 



VICTOR CHAPMAN, '13 233 

go north and have a look at the map. Boo, my feet are 
getting cold! " 

While thus engaged " Trun-un-ng-tsss '' — a black 
puff of smoke appeared behind my tail, and I had the 
impression of having a piece of iron hiss by. " Must 
have got my range, first shot! " I surmised, and 
making a steep bank, pique' d heavily. " There, IVe 
lost them now ! '' The whole art of avoiding shells is to 
pay no attention till they get your range, and then 
dodge away, change altitude, and generally avoid going 
in a straight Une. In point of fact, I could see bunches 
of exploding shells up over my right shoulder, now a 
kilometre oiBf. They continued to shell that section for 
some time; tJie little balls of smoke thinning out and 
merging as they crossed the lines. 

Billy Thaw and Rockwell came over me, thirty- 
seven hundred metres they must have been; I tried to 
follow them but found it difficult. Up by A — I 
recrossed the Hues, taking a look at T — and returned 
over M — . I met the same reception, but their aim was 
wild, two or three hundred metres above, and a scat- 
tering way under me. Nary a Boche sailing over that 
misty sea! My cheeks felt cold, and having lost sight 
of my companions (it's much harder to see them when 
one is a little below, on account of the wings), I headed 
for the foothills of the Vosges. M — , then smaller 



234 "LE ROI DE L'AIR EST MORT " 

villages huddled up in the valley, and a couple of little 
lakes, like jagged pieces of jet, in the green seaweedy 
map. Right over the Ballon d'Alsace I went, it seemed 
near, for I was sinking, now having reduced my engine. 
Then Ballon de Servance with its Fort, and the gentle 
green valley in the west. Lots of tiny lakes broadcast 
in the wood, and a winding stream to F — , where I 
picked up Z — and the new hangars of the field. Down, 
down, with the uneven throbs of the motor, the sound 
of the wind in the cables, and the teeter of the tangent 
machine settling. (I was descending as slowly as pos- 
sible, for it brutalizes one to come down fast, — one's 
ears and appreciation of distance, you know). How 
charming the little creek looked in the meadow with 
groups of trees and shrubs so daintily arranged, and all 
inimitable green. A roar of the motor, a tour of the ter- 
rain, and two or three hundred metres to get the wind, 
and I scooped on to the field. The others had not re- 
turned, but a printed slip was handed to me a moment 
later. Telephone message from the field near the Front : 
" Lieutenant Thaw et Capitaine Rockwell rentres. 
Lieutenant a trois eclats d'obus dans son appareil dont 
un dans le becquille I'a fait ceder en atterissant. Cor- 
poral Chapman vu au dessus de M a 2800." 

May 13. — Yesterday afternoon I went up above 
the clouds, over the field, to have my picture taken by 



VICTOR CHAPMAN, '13 235 

an M. F. I had motor trouble in leaving, so was late 
when I got up there — 2500m. It was too late. This 
morning I was guard with McConnell; weather not 
propitious, a great variety of clouds. Finally at five 
o'clock I took a sail for half-an-hour. Breakfasted. 
The Captain came down and suggested we all make a 
tour, save Thaw, whose machine is still in ' reparation ', 
the other side of B — . We Uned up, tried our motors, 
and left at 6.45. A circle over the town, and off we go ! 
This time I was not going to be below, so I did not try 
to spare my motor, and easily got up to over 3700 over 
D — . Not seeing the rest I made a trip over the hues 
by A — , let them waste some shells on me, and came 
back to find them all. The Captain in his silver 1 70 H. 
P., and the rest in theirs, with clouded, green scenery. 
It's much too dark, and shows up against the pale land- 
scape below. Odd, one seems to be travelHng straight, 
merely letting the machine ride easily; but I noticed 
today we were forever swinging back and forth. First 
a machine would be under one wing tip, then he would 
float back and appear on the other side. To get a 
better view, now and again I would list, and look over 
the cloud banks. There were more clouds today, no 
Alps visible, but I saw the turn in the Rhine, and its 
zig-zag course in hills beyond B — . A fine shimmer in 
the air which looked like silky threads and took rain- 



236 " LE ROI DE L^AIR EST MORT " 

bow colors in the sun. I tried to take a picture or two 
with my camera of the other machines and a shell puff, 
but the light was not good, and everything is faint. We 
went by C — , where the battleworn woods were smok- 
ing with a bombardment. Up the valley of T — , then 
back to D — , and home by B — . The bombardment 
was very feeble as compared to yesterday. All re- 
turned, and landed well. McConnell, on his first trip, 
went up to four thousand three hundred metres. He 
must have a fine engine. A cinema has come this 
afternoon to take us. Prince and Cowdin returned 
from Paris for the occasion. Now mind you no 
publicity on this, it would get me in trouble. 

Your loving 

Victor. 

On the morning of Saturday, June 24, 1916, Ser- 
geant Victor Chapman, serving near Verdun, heard 
that his fellow-aviator, Sergeant Balsley, lying 
wounded in a hospital, much desired some oranges. 
With a basket of them in his aeroplane. Chapman 
set out on a mission of mercy as old as humanity 
itself, albeit attempted in the most modern of ve- 
hicles. As he flew towards his friend he saw in the 
distance what proved on nearer view to be four 



VICTOR CHAPMAN, '13 237 

German aeroplanes in conflict with three from his 
own squadron. Dashing impetuous into the fight 
he brought three of the Germans to earth, but 
himself was killed, and fell within the German 
lines. The immediate reward of his sacrifice 
was that his three comrades returned in safety 
to their camp. 

" Poor Victor Chapman," wrote Norman Prince^ 
to his family a few days later, " was lost last week. 
He was of tremendous assistance to ElHot [Cowdin] 
and me in getting together the escadrille; his heart 
was in it to make ours as good as any at the front; 
he was ahnost too courageous in attacking German 
machines wherever and whenever he saw them. . . . 
Victor died, was killed while attacking an aeroplane 
that was attacking Luffberry and me. Another, 
and unaccounted for, German came and brought 
Victor down while he was endeavoring to protect 
us. A glorious death, face a Vennemi, for a great 
cause, and to save a friend." 

1 As these pages go to press, the news is received (Oct. i6, 1916) 
that Norman Prince has been killed in action between French and 
German aeroplanes. His gallantry had already won him the Croix 
de Guerre and M6daille Militaire. On his deathbed, in a hospital in 
the Vosges, the cross of the Legion of Honor was pinned on his breast. 



2sS "LE ROI DE L'AIR EST MORT '' 

Beyond the immediate reward was the recogni- 
tion in France and America of an heroic gift of Hfe, 
glowing with significance. The French philosopher 
and academician, Emile Boutroux, declared: 

" Non, les grands interpretes de la conscience 
humaine n'ont pas eu tort: mourir, plutot que de 
trahir la cause du droit et de la justice, ce n'est pas 
mourir, c'est s'immortaliser. Mais ce n'est pas 
seulement survivre dans Fimagination de la pos- 
terite, c'est laisser derriere soi une semence de foi 
et de vertu qui, tot ou tard, assurera le triomphe 
du bien." 1 

A Harvard poet, Benjamin Apthorp Gould, '91, 
wrote a few days later, these lines which may stand 
as the exequy on each Harvard man who has given 
his life's blood to the cause he has deemed worth 
the offering: 

VICTOR CHAPMAN 2 

It is not true he died in France: 

His spirit climbs the serried years, 

Victorious over empty fears, 
And proof of Freedom's last advance. 

1 From Le Temps, Paris, July s, 1916. 

2 From Boston Herald, July 17, 19 16. 



VICTOR CHAPMAN, '13 239 

The handful of his mortal clay- 
May drift upon a foreign breeze 
To burgeon into flowers and trees 

That make the diadem of May. 

Himself still lives, and cannot die, 
While freemen shun the tyrant's heel. 
While minds are true and hearts are leal. 

And men look upward to the sky. 

Compact of elemental fire 

And heart untouched by easy fear, 

His vision measures fair and clear 
The worth of ultimate desire. 

For him no blight of searing age; 

Eternal youth is his and joy, 

The cheerful gladness of the boy 
Shall be his constant heritage. 

Mourn not for that devoted head; 
He is the spirit of our race 
Triiunphant over Time and Space — 

He cannot die; he is not dead. 



THE LIST OF HARVARD MEN IN 
THE EUROPEAN WAR 



THE LIST OF HARVARD MEN IN THE 
EUROPEAN WAR 

Under the definition " Harvard Surgical Unit " are entered the members of the 

successive contingents of the Unit sent by the Harvard Medical School to General 

Hospital 22 of the British Expeditionary Force in France. 

Fred H. All, G.S. '14-15, American Ambulance Service. 

Louis Allard, Assistant Professor of French; interpreter in 
British Hospital No. 8 at Rouen. 

Benjamin M. Alton, M.D., '14, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

A. Piatt Andrew, A.M. '95, Ph.D. '00, Inspector-General, 
American Ambulance Service. 

Charles L. Appleton, '08, American Ambulance Service. 

Richard S. Austin, M.D. 'ii. Harvard Surgical Unit. 

A. AuziAS-TuREENE, L. '13-14, Serving in British Army. 

George W. Bachman, 'o8, M.D. '14, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Elliot C. Bacon, '10, Red Cross in Paris. 

Robert Bacon, '80, Relief Work, and on Committee of Ameri- 
can Ambulance, Paris. 

Charles Baird, Jr., '11, American Ambulance Service. 

Frederick C. Baker, '12, Cyclist Service, British Army. 

Fernand Baldensperger, Visiting Professor at Harvard, '13- 
14, in 31st Corps, French Army. 

Raymond P. Baldwin, '16, Morgan-Harjes Ambulance Corps. 

E. L. Barron, '13, American Ambulance Service. 

A. A. Barrows, M.D. '02, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Lyman G. Barton, Jr., M.D. '12, American Ambulance Hos- 
pital Unit. 

J. F. Bass, '91, War Correspondent with Russian Army, 
wounded in Poland. 

243 



244 HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 

BoYLSTON A. Beal, '86, Staff of American Embassies, Berlin 
and London. 

Howard W. Beal, M.D. '98, Chief Surgeon, American Wo- 
men's War Hospital, Paignton, England. 

Edward Bell, '04, American Embassy, London. 

George Benet, M.D. '13, American Ambulance Hospital, 
Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Braxton Bigelow, '09, 2d Lieutenant, Field Artillery, British 
Army. 

Stephen S. Bigelow, '15, American Ambulance Service. 

WiLLLAM De F. Bigelow, '00, American Ambulance Service. 

M. H. BiRCKHEAD, '02, American Ambulance Service. 

Percy A. Blair, '06, American Ambulance Service. 

Robert W. Bliss, 'go, ist Secretary of American Embassy, 
Paris. 

John E. Boit, '12, American Ambulance Service. 

Walter M. Boothby, '02, M.D. '06, American Ambulance 
Hospital Unit. 

Russell P. Borden, M.D. '15, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

John L. Bremer, '96, M.D. '01, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

C. W. Bressler, sM. '14-15, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

George E. Brewer, M.D. '85, Hospital Work at Juilly, France. 

Ferdinand Brigham, D.M.D. '15, Harvard Surgical Unit, 
Dental Department. 

Carlton T. Brodrick, '08, Belgian Relief Commission, 
drowned in sinking of Lusitania. 

L. Brokenshire, '16, with 4th Brigade, Canadian Troops. 

G. C. Broome, L. '85-86, American Ambulance Service. 

John F. Brown, Jr., '18, American Ambulance Service. 

John Paulding Brown, '14, American Citizens' Relief Com- 
mittee, London; American Ambulance Service. 

J. W. Brown, '17, American Ambulance Service. 

Thomas B. Buffum, '16, American Ambulance Service. 

Henry A. Bunker, '10, with Dr. Strong in Serbia. 



HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 245 

Benjamin P. Burpee, M.D. '14, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Carleton Burr, '13, American Ambulance Service. 

Roger A. Burr, '04, Work for Relief of Prisoners in Siberia 

under the American Red Cross and the American Embassy 

in Petrograd. 
Alfred T. Burri, '18, Y.M.C.A. Army Hut Work 
Caspar H. Burton, Jr., '09, enUsted under Red Cross in British 

Army. 
Charles S. Butler, '93, M.D. '98, Hospital Work at Fort 

Mahon, France. 
F. W. Butler-Thwing, '13, 2d Lieutenant, 5th Royal Irish 

Lancers. 
H. G. Byng, '13, Private in London Artists' Rijfles; 2d Lieu- 
tenant in 2d Border Regiment; killed near Festubert. 
Hugh Cabot, '94, M.D. '98, Chief Surgeon, Harvard Surgical 

Unit. 
Frederick J. Caldwell, D.M.D. '14, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
David Carb, '09, American Ambulance Service. 
A. G. Carey, '14, American Ambulance Service, received Croix 

de Guerre, 
H. R. Carey, '13, American Embassy, Paris. 
Charles Carroll, '87, with Robert Bacon helped organize 

American Ambulance Hospital. 
P. A. Carroll, '02, Inspector for American Ambulance Hospi- 
tal, Paris. 
J. S. Carstairs, 'ii. Foreign Legion, French Army. 
Edward C. Carter, '00, Y.M.C.A. Army Hut Work. 
Philip T. Cate, '15, American Ambulance Service. 
R. S. Catheron, D.M.D. '05, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Andre C. Champollion, '02, in French Army; killed in 

trenches at Bois-le-Pretre, France. 
Victor E. Chapman, '13, Foreign Legion, French Army, 

wounded; French Aviation Service, Medaille Militaire; 

Croix de Guerre; killed in action at Verdim, June 23, 19x6. 



246 HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 

David Cheever, '97, M.D. '01, Chief Surgeon, Harvard Surgi- 
cal Unit. 

Oswald Chew, '03, Commission for Relief in Belgium. 

J. R. Childs, A.m. '15, American Ambulance Service. 

Allen M. Cleghorn, Assistant in Physiology, Harvard Medi- 
cal School, '98-00; Captain in Royal Army Medical Corps; 
died in England after brief illness. 

J. S. Cochrane, 'go, American Ambulance Service. 

C. R. CoDMAN, 2d, '15, American Ambulance Service. 
George R. Cogswell, '18, American Ambulance Service. 
Henry Augustus Coit, '10, Private 5th Battalion, Princess 

Patricia's Regiment, Canadian Volunteers; died, August 7, 
19 1 6, of injuries received at front in France. 

F. T. Colby, '05, American Ambulance Service, Lieutenant in 
Belgian Army, mentioned for bravery. 

F. A. CoLLER, M.D. '12, American Ambulance Hospital Unit; 
later at American Women's War Hospital, Paignton, England. 

John G. Coolidge, '84, American Embassy, Paris. 

E. C. CoWDiN, 2d, '09, American Ambulance Service; attached 
to Belgian Cavalry in Belgium; Sergeant in French Aviation 
Service; received Croix de Guerre; first American to receive 
the Medaille Militaire; decorated for valor and aerial effici- 
ency displayed in bringing to earth his third enemy aero- 
plane. 

WiLLL/y^ D. Crane, '16, American Ambulance Service. 

Benjamin T. Creden, '99, Corporal, ist Overseas Battalion, 
Canadian Expeditionary Force. 

D. R. W. Crile, M. '15-16, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
George H. Crocker, Jr., '17, Morgan-Harjes Ambulance Ser- 
vice; injured on the Sussex. 

C. R. Cross, Jr., '03, American Distributing Service; killed in 

motor accident in France, October, 1915. 
Bronson Crothers, '05, M.D. '10, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Lawrence B. Cummings, '03, American Ambulance Service. 



HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 247 

E. J. CuRLEY, '04, American Ambulance Service, received Croix 
de Guerre. 

Brian C. Ctjrtis, '15, American Ambulance Service. 

E. D. Curtis, '14, American Relief Committee in Belgium. 

Frazeer Curtis, '98, organized American Squadron, French 
Aviation Service, with Norman Prince, '08. 

Laurence Curtis, 2d, '16, American Embassy, Paris. 

Harvey Cushing, M.D. '95, Chief Surgeon, American Ambu- 
lance Hospital Unit. 

Frank H, Cushman, D.M.D. '15, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Elliott C. Cutler, '09, M.D. '13, American Ambulance Hos- 
pital Unit. 

Paul Dana, '74, Relief Work in Belgium. 

Fritz Daur, S.T.M. '14, killed fighting in German Army in 
Flanders, November, 1914. 

Charles C. Davis, '01, American Ambulance Service. 

C. W. Day, G.S. '12-14, Lieutenant in Canadian Expeditionary 
Force, 14th Princess of Wales Own Rifles; killed fighting at 
Ypres. 

George P. Denny, '09, M.D. '13, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Richard Derby, '03, M.D. (Columbia) '07, American Ambu- 
lance Hospital, Paris. 

Edward S. Dillon, M.D. '16, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

John F. Dillon, D.M.D. '15, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

W. J. DoDD, M. '00-01, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

H. P. Dodge, '92, American Embassy, Paris. 

J. I. H. Downes, G.S. '12-15, American Ambulance Service. 

E. T. Drake, Jr., '16, Morgan-Harjes Ambulance Service. 

W. P. Draper, '13, 2d Lieutenant, R.F.A., British Expedition- 
ary Force. 

Ellis L. Dresel, '87, American Embassy, Berlin. 

E. J. A. DuQUESNE, Professor of Architectural Design; Red 
Cross Work in Paris, as reservist subject to call. 

Charles B. Dyar, '06, American Embassy, Berlin. 



248 HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 

G. H. Edgell, '09, American Embassy, London. 

Theodore H. Ellis, '04, Lieutenant, 8th Loyal North Lan- 
cashire Regiment. 

Edwin Emerson, '91, War Correspondent. 

William K. B. Emerson, '16, American Ambulance Service. 

Robert Emmet, '93, Major in Warwickshire Territorials; has 
become British citizen. 

Richard T. Evans, '06, American Red Cross Committee in 
China for the Relief of Prisoners of War in Siberia. 

John S. Farlow, '02, American Ambulance Service. 

H. W. Farnsworth, '12, Foreign Legion, French Army, killed 
at Tahure in autumn of 191 5. 

J. F. Faulkner, M.D. '13, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

W. E. Faulkner, '87, M.D. '91, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

S. P. Fay, '07, American Ambulance Service. 

William P, Fay, '15, American Ambulance Service. 

RoADES Fayerweather, '99, M.D. (Johns Hopkins) '03, Head 
of Unit on Red Cross Hospital Ship; later in France. 

Henry 0. Feiss, '98, M.D. '02, Assistant to Dr. Du Bouchet, 
American Ambulance Hospital, Paris. 

Robert L. Fellmann, G.S. '13-14, Lieutenant in French Army. 

O. D. FiLLEY, '06, American Ambulance Service, in Charge of 
Unit; Lieutenant and Captain in British Air Service, received 
the MiUtary Cross for gallantry. 

Charles H. Fiske, 3d, '19, American Ambulance Service. 

C. Stewart Forbes, '00, American Ambulance Service. 

Gerrit Forbes, '04, British Flying Corps, operating in Africa. 

Henry S. Forbes, '05, M.D. '11, with Red Cross Sanitary Com- 
mission in Serbia. 

J. Grant Forbes, '01, " Counsellor " for War Relief Commis- 
sion, Rockefeller Foundation. 

Thomas A. Foster, M.D. '14, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Reginald C. Foster, 'ii. Member of Staff, War Relief Com- 
mission, Rockefeller Foimdation. 



HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 249 

Arnold Fraser-Campbell, '08, Captain, Second Argyll and 
Highland Regiment. 

Harold M. Frost, M. '09-13, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

C. F. Frothingham, Jr., '11, American Embassy, London. 

Benjamin A. G. Fuller, '00, American Embassy, London. 

Gerald F. Furlong, 'go, with a Canadian Regiment in Europe. 

F. R. Furness, '12, caring for wounded Russian soldiers at 
Petrograd. 

James C. Fyshe, '99, M.D. (McGill) '04, went to England with 
I St Canadian Contingent as Surgeon with rank of Captain; 
transferred to Army Medical Corps. 

John P. Galatti, '09, American Embassy, London. 

Stephen Galatti, '10, American Embassy, London; American 
Ambulance Service, received Croix de Guerre. 

A. J. Gallishaw, ^C. '14-16, service with Newfoimdland Regi- 
ment at Gallipoli. 

Joseph W. Ganson, '92, Foreign Legion, French Army. 

DoANE Gardiner, '07, ist Lieutenant, 3d Reserves, 3d Bat- 
talion, City of London Regiment of Royal Fusiliers. 

Gordon Gardiner, S.S. '05, Captain, K.O.S.B.; Major, Chief 
Intelligence Officer, Scottish Command. 

A. P. Gardner, '86, helped organize and direct volunteer 
corps of assistants at American Embassy in London in caring 
for stranded Americans. 

Merrill Gaunt, And. '14-16, died, April, 1916, of cerebro- 
spinal meningitis while in Morgan-Harjes Ambulance Service. 

H. M. Goodwin, M.D. '13, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Pierre Alexandre Gouvy, C. '11-12, G.B. '12-13, Lieutenant, 
French Field Artillery; wounded. 

Harold S. Gray, '18, Y.M.C.A. Army Hut Work. 

R. H. Greeley, '01, in service in mihtary hospital, Houlgate, 
France; Director, American Distributing Service; injured in 
motor accident, October, 191 5; received Cross of Legion of 
Honor. 



250 HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 

E. G. Greene, 'ii, American Embassy, London. 

Henry Copley Greene, '94, French Wounded Emergency- 
Fund. 

QuiNCY S. Greene, '13, American Embassy, London; Lieu- 
tenant, Coldstream Guards, British Army. 

Warwick Greene, '01, War ReHef Commission, Rockefeller 
Foundation. 

C. Greenough, '04, aided in equipping hospitals in Paris. 

Robert B. Greenough, '92, M.D. '96, American Ambulance 
Hospital Unit, Executive Officer. 

Allen Greenwood, M.D. '89, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

W. T. Grenfell, A.m. (Hon.) '09, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

J. C. Grew, '02, ist Secretary, American Embassy, Berlin. 

F. B. Grinnell, '09, M.D. '13, with Dr. Strong in Serbia. 
Roger Griswold, '14, American Ambulance Service. 
Alexander H. Gunn, 'ii, American Volunteer Ambulance 

Corps of French Army. 
F. M. Gunther, '07, American Embassy, London. 
Paul Gustafson, '12, M.D. '16, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Gardner Hale, '15, American Ambulance Service, in charge 

of Division. 
H. D. Hale, '14, American Ambulance Service, received Croix 

de Guerre. 
Louis P. Hall, G.S. '13-15, American Ambulance Service. 
John W. Hammond, Jr., M.D. '12, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Lyman S. Hapgood, '97, M.D. '01, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Edward Harding, 'ii, M.D. '16, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Henry Knox Hardon, '12, American Ambulance Service. 
Oliver B. Harriman, '09, 2d Secretary, American Embassy, 

Berlin. 
William C. Harrington, '16, American Ambulance Service. 
H. F. Hartwell, '95, M.D. '98, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Lionel de Jersey Harvard, '15, Lieutenant in Grenadier 

Guards, British Army. 



HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 251 

Harold W. Haserick, '17, 2d Lieutenant, 4th Essex Regiment. 

George H. Hazlehurst, M.C.E. '13, with Dr. Strong in 
Serbia. 

Lawrence Hemenway, '15, American Ambulance Service. 

Alexander I. Henderson, '13, American Ambulance Service. 

Morton J. Henry, L. '88-91, Major, U.S.A.; American Em- 
bassy, Paris. 

John A. Herbert, '18, left College to receive commission in 
England. 

C. HiGGiNSON, '17, American Ambulance Service. 

Lawrence R. Hill, M.D. '07, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Lovering Hill, '10, American Ambulance Service, received 
Croix de Guerre; three times cited for bravery. 

Robert W. Hinds, '05, M.D. '10, one of five surgeons in charge 
of units on S.S. Red Cross; assisting at Hasslor Royal Naval 
Hospital, near Portsmouth; also at American Women's War 
Hospital at Paignton, England. 

Joseph P. Hoguet, '04, M.D. (Columbia) '07, American Ambu- 
lance Hospital. 

G. M. Hollister, '18, American Ambulance Service. 

Carlyle H. Holt, '12, American Ambulance Service. 

Samuel A. Hopkins, M.D. (CoU. Phys. and Surg., Columbia) 
'80, Instructor in Dental Pathology, Harvard Dental School, 
'06-09; Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Ronald W. Hoskier, '18, left College to receive commission in 
England. 

Herbert H. Howard, M.D. '12, American Women's War 
Hospital, Paignton, England. 

Sidney C. Howard, G.S. '15-16, American Ambulance Service. 

Gardener G. Hubbard, '00, American Ambulance Service; 
Lieutenant, British Aviation Corps. 

Edward E. Hunt, '10, War Correspondent, Relief Work in 
Belgium. 

William E. Hunter, sM. '13-15, Harvard Surgical Unit. 



252 HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 

Nathaniel S. Hunting, '84, M.D. '89, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
James P. Hutchinson, '90, M.D. (Univ. of Pa.) '93, American 

Ambulance Hospital, Paris. 
DwiGHT H. Ingram, '16, Y.M.C.A. Army Hut Work. 
John S. Irvin, '08, M.D. (Columbia) '12, Resident Surgeon, 

French Hospital, Passy. 
W. O'D. IsELiN, '05, helped organize American Ambulance 

Hospital; also assisted in American Embassy, Paris. 
George S. Jackson, '05, Relief Work in Belgium. 
Robert A. Jackson, '99, Relief Work in Belgium. 
Leslie P. Jacobs, '17, American Ambulance Service. 
Henry James, Jr., '99, War Relief Commission, Rockefeller 

Foundation. 
Francis Jaques, '03, American Ambulance Service. 
Augustus Jay, 'go, ist Secretary, American Embassy, Rome. 
Allyn R. Jennings, sG.S. '14-15, Amer. Ambulance Service. 
William B. Johnston, '97, M.D. (Johns Hopkins) '01, in 

charge of small hospital in France. 
Daniel Fiske Jones, '92, M.D. '96, Chief Surgeon, Harvard 

Surgical Unit. 
V. K. KAZANJLA.N. D.M.D. '05, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
W. W. Kent, '16, Secretary, American Citizens' Rehef Com- 
mittee, London. 
Day Kimball, '15, American Embassy, Paris. 
David W. King, '16, Foreign Legion, French Army. 
Lucius C. Kingman, M.D. '04, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Abraham Krachmalnikoff, '16, service in Russian Army. 
P. B. Kurtz, '16, American Ambulance Service. 
Walter M. Lacey, M.D. '12, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Walter A. Lane, M.D. '99, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Charles N. Lathrop, '96, ReHef Work in Belgium. 
J. L. Lathrop, '18, Morgan-Harjes Ambulance Service. 
Richard Lawrence, '02, American Ambulance Service, formed 

first motor-ambulance section sent to front. 



HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 253 

Peirce H. Leavitt, '10, M.D. '14, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Roger I. Lee, '02, M.D. '05, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Louis V. LeMoyne, '84, ReKef Work in Belgium. 

D. W. Lewis, '14, American Ambulance Service. 

P. C. Lewis, '17, American Ambulance Service, received Croix 

de Guerre. 
Howard B. Lines, LL.B. '15, American Ambulance Service. 
Robert Littell, '18, American Ambulance Service. 
Walter Lovell, '07, American Ambulance Service, received 

Croix de Guerre; joined French Aviation Corps. 

C. T. LovERiNG, Jr., '02, American Ambulance Service, suc- 
ceeded Filley, '06, in command of motor-ambulance section. 

Alfred Luger, Assistant in Medical School, '13-14; attached 
to Medical Corps, Austrian Army. 

Fred B. Lund, '88, M.D. '92, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

George H. Lyman, '16, American Ambulance Service. 

J. 0. Lyman, '06, American Ambulance Service. 

Charles F. McDonald, Jr., D. M.D. '10, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

WiLBERT LoRNE MacDonald, Ph.D. 'i2, Canadian Expedi- 
tionary Force. 

D. D. L. McGrew, '03, American Ambulance Service. 
Francis P. Magoun, Jr., '16, American Ambulance Service. 
Harold Marion-Crawford, 'n, 2d Lieutenant, Irish Guards, 

killed at Givenchy. 
Austin B. Mason, '08, American Ambulance Service. 
Clyde Fairbanks Maxwell, '14, Lieutenant, loth Battalion, 

Essex Infantry; killed in action on the Somme, July 3, 1916. 
Hans F. Mayer, G.S. '12-13, Volunteer with German Army in 

France. 
John Melcher, '17, American Ambulance Service. 
J. M. Mellen, '17, American Ambulance Service, received 

Croix de Guerre. 
L. J. A. Mercier, Instructor in French; Chief Interpreter at 

Le Mans, France. 



254 HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 

R. B. Mekriman, '96, American Embassy, London. 

Ernest N. Mekmngton, Ph.D. '05, Senior Chaplain to New 
Zealand and Austrahan Division at Anzac, GallipoK, and in 
Egypt. 

Edward P. Merritt, '82, Hospital Work at Aix-les-Bains. 

Chalmers Jack Mersereau, A.M. '09, Artillery Major, 
Canadian Expeditionary Force, seriously wounded. 

Carleton Ray Metcalf, '02, M.D. '06, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

H. H. Metcalf, '17, American Ambulance Service. 

Philip O. Mills, '05, American Ambulance Service. 

G. W. MiNOT, '15, Attache, American Embassy, BerHn. 

Clarence V. S. Mitchell, L. '13-14, Ambulance Service in 
France. 

W. Jason Mixter, M.D. '06, American Hospital, Paris. 

Orlando F. Montgomery, M. '10-14, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

John C. B. Moore, '18, American Ambulance Service. 

R. L. Moore, '18, Morgan-Harjes Ambulance Service. 

Charles D. Morgan, '06, American Ambulance Service, Lieu- 
tenant, R.F.A., British Army; wounded; awarded the Mili- 
tary Cross. 

Stokeley W. Morgan, '16, American Embassy, London. 

W. R Morrison, '10, M.D., '13, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Philip R. Morss, '17, American Ambulance Service. 

Harris P. Mosher, '92, M.D. '96, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Robert T. W. Moss, '94, American Ambulance Service in 
France; resigned in order to help in Serbia. 

Alexander D. Muir, G.S. '12-15, 2d Lieutenant, Black Watch, 
British Army. 

Ector O. Munn, '14, American Ambulance Service. 

GuRNEE Munn, 'ii, American Ambulance Service. 

John Munroe, '13, American Ambulance Service. 

Fred T. Murphy, M.D. '01, Amer. Ambulance Hospital, Paris. 

J. Tucker Murray, '99, Captain, 2d Reserve BattaHon, Duke 
of WeUington's Regiment. 



HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 255 

Henry L. Nash, '16, Y.M.C.A. Army Hut Work. 

A. F. Newell, And. '14-16, Y.M.C.A. Army Hut Work. 

Edward H. Nichols, 'S6, M.D. '92, Chief Surgeon, Harvard 
Surgical Unit. 

Sir Henry Norman, '81, Managing Red Cross Hospital, organ- 
ized and equipped by his wife and himself. 

Richard Norton, '92, organized and in active charge of Ameri- 
can Volunteer Motor Ambulance Corps, awarded Croix de 
Guerre. 

W. G. Oakman, Jr., '07, joined English Army, drove armored 
motors with British Expeditionary Force in Dardanelles; Lieu- 
tenant, 2d Battahon, Coldstream Guards; wounded in France. 

J. R. Oliver, '94, Head Physician, Military Garrison Hospital, 
Innsbruck, 14th Division, Austrian Army. 

Thomas Edward Oliver, '93, Belgian Relief Commission, 
France and Brussels. 

LiTHGOW Osborne, '15, American Embassy, Berlin. 

George Osgood, M.D. '05, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Robert B. Osgood, M.D. '99, American Ambulance Hospital 
Unit. 

George B. Packard, Jr., M.D. '14, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Henry B. Palmer, '10, American Ambulance Service. 

Harrison L. Parker, D.M.D. '13, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

DiLLWYN Parrish, 'i8, Morgan-Harjes Ambulance Service. 

W. Barclay Parsons, Jr., '10, American Ambulance Service. 

J. G. D'A. Paul, '08, American Embassy, Paris and Bordeaux. 

Charles W. Peabody, '12, M.D. '16, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Waldo Peirce, '07, American Ambulance Service; received 
Croix de Guerre. 

Robert E. Pellissier, '04, Sergeant, Chasseurs Alpins, French 
Army; killed in action on the Somme, August 29, 1916. 

DuNLAP Pearce Penhallow, '03, M.D. '06, Chief Surgeon, 
American Women's War Hospital, Paignton, England, 
1915-16. 



256 HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 

J. R. 0. Perkins, '14, American Ambulance Service. 

Sir George H. Perley, '78, Acting High Commissioner and 
High Commissioner for Canada in London. 

John K. T. Philips, '17, Morgan-Harjes Ambulance Service. 

John C. Phillips, '99, M.D., '04, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Edward M. Pickman, '08, American Embassy, Paris. 

George B. Pierce, '93, M.D. '98, French Hospital Service at 
Fort Mahon. 

Thomas R. Plummer, '84, American Embassy, Paris. 

Charles A. Porter, '88, M.D. '92, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Regis H. Post, '91, American Ambulance Service, Adjutant of 
Ambulance Staff. 

William H. Potter, '78, D.M.D. '85, Dental Surgeon in Am- 
erican Ambulance Hospital, Paris. 

H. H. PowEL, '14, American Ambulance Service. 

Norman Prince, '08, organized American Squadron, French 
Aviation Service, with Frazier Curtis, '98; received Croix de 
Guerre and Medaille Militaire; killed in France, October, 1916. 

T. J. Putnam, '15, American Ambulance Service, received 
Croix de Guerre. 

WiNTHROP Pyemont, L. '13-14, Serving in British Army. 

Alexander Quackenboss, M.D. '92, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

W. K. Rainsford, '04, American Ambulance Service. 

Wayne S. Ramsey, M.D. '12, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Daniel B. Reardon, M.D. '03, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

John S. Reed, '10, War Correspondent. 

Philip S. Reed, '05, American Ambulance Hospital, Paris. 

Philip N. Rhinelander, '18, American Ambulance Service. 

A. Hamilton Rice, '98, M.D. '04, Surgical Work in Paris 
Hospitals. 

DuRANT Rice, '12, American Ambulance Service, received Croix 
de Guerre. 

Paul M. Rice, '15, assisted American Citizens' Relief Com- 
mittee, London. 



HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 257 

Ernest T. F. Richards, M.D. (McGill) '05, Assistant in Neuro- 
pathology, '07-11; Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Edward P. Richardson, '02, M.D. '06, Harvard Surgical 

Unit. 
N. Thayer Robb, '93, American Ambulance Service. 
Simon P. Robineau, L. '09-12, serving in French Army. 
Carl Merrill Robinson, M.D. 'ii, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Phillips B. Robinson, '03, Volunteer in Preparing Passports 

on Staff of American Embassy, London; joined British Red 

Cross Corps as Volunteer Ambulance chauffeur for service 

in France. 
Orville F. Rogers, Jr., '08, M.D. '12, American Ambulance 

Hospital Unit. 
Nicholas Roosevelt, '14, American Embassy, Paris. 
Oliver W. Roosevelt, '12, Volunteer Service in the Cantine 

de la Gare du Nord, caring for French and Belgians. 
Arthur B. Ruhl, '99, War Correspondent. 
Laurence Rumsey, '08, American Ambulance Service; French 

Aviation Service. 
Charles H. Russell, Jr., '15, American Embassy, BerHn. 
Daniel Sargent, '13, American Ambulance Service. 
Robert R. Sattler, M. '18, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Theodore R. Schoonmaker, '12, with Dr. Strong in Serbia. 
Alan Seeger, '10, Foreign Legion, French Army; killed, July, 

1916. 
A. W. Sellards, Associate in Tropical Medicine; with Dr. 

Strong in Serbia. 
Henry Seton, '17, American Ambulance Service. 
William L. Shannon, sM. '13-14, Captain in Field Ambulance 

Service saiHng from Canada. 
George C. Shattuck, '01, M.D. '05, with Dr. Strong in Serbia; 

Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Vernon Shaw-Kennedy, '16, 3d Coldstream Guards, ist 

Guards Brigade, British Expeditionary Force, France. 



258 HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 

George Maurice Sheahan, '02, M.D. '07, Harvard Surgical 

Unit. 
Henry B. Sheahan, '09, American Ambulance Service. 
William C. Sheffield, M. '18, with Dr. Strong in Serbia. 
Charles W. Short, Jr., '08, Assistant Secretary, American Em- 
bassy, London; Director, Harvard Club of London War 

Relief Fund. 
Channing C. Simmons, M.D. '99, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
H. R. Deighton Simpson, '18, 2d Lieutenant, 6th Dragoons; 

Royal Flying Corps, British Army, mentioned for gallant and 

distinguished services in the field by Field Marshal Sir John 

French. 
Richard H. Simpson, A.M. '12, ReHef Work in Belgium. 
William A. Slater, '14, American Ambulance Service. 
James H. Smith, Jr., '02, American Ambulance Service. 
Jeremiah Smith, Jr., '92, War Relief Commission, Rockefeller 

Foundation. 
J. Robinson Smith, G.S. '99-00, Relief Work in Belgium. 
Marius N. Smith-Petersen, M.D. '14, American Ambulance 

Hospital Unit. 
Frank W. Snow, M.D. '02, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Edward C. Sortwell, 'ii, American Ambulance Service. 
Richard B. Southgate, '15, in Bank of American Citizens' 

Association in Berne, Switzerland. 
Isaac C. Spicer, LL.B. '13, joined Ammunition Corps at Fred- 

ericton, N.B. 
Charles B. Spruit, M.D. '15, with Dr. Strong in Serbia. 
John J. Stack, M.D. '07, with Dr. Strong in Serbia. 
E. Birney Stackpole, G.S. '00-01, Princess Patricia Regiment 

of Canada. 
T. Harwood Stacy, L. '11-12, Relief Work in Belgium. 
Horace B. Stanton, 'go. Secretary, American Distributing 

Service in France. 



HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 259 

DiLLWYN P. Starr, '08, served in France as member of Ameri- 
can Volunteer Motor-Ambulance Corps of London; drove 
armored motors with British Expeditionary Force in the 
Dardanelles; Lieutenant, 2d Battalion, Coldstream Guards; 
killed in action in France, September 15, 1916. 

Roland W. Stebbins, '03, American Ambulance Service. 

Frederick A. Sterling, '98, American Embassy at Petrograd, 
special work with Austrian and German prisoners. 

Harold W. Stevens, M. '09-10, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Joseph H. Stevenson, '09, American Ambulance Service. 

Edward M. Stone, '08, Foreign Legion, French Army, Ma- 
chine Gun Section; died from wounds in military hospital at 
Romilly, France. 

Byron P. Stookey, M.D. '13, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

A. Gale Straw, M.D. '90, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Richard P. Strong, Professor of Tropical Medicine; Ameri- 
can Ambulance Hospital Unit, in charge of Red Cross work 
against tjqphus in Serbia. 

Frank Stuhl, D.M.D. '05, American Ambulance Hospital, 
Paris. 

Henry M. Suckley, '10, American Ambulance Service, received 
Croix de Guerre. 

William M. Sullivan, L. '13-14, American Ambulance Service. 

F. C. de Sumichrast, Associate Professor of French, Emeritus; 
Captain, EaHng and Hanwell Battahon, loth Middlesex 
Regiment, National Reserve. 

Louis A. Sussdorff, '10, American Embassy, Paris. 

Arthur Sweetser, 'ii. War Correspondent. 

Charles W. Taintor, 2d, '18, American Ambulance Service. 

George F. Talbot, '16, American Ambulance Service. 

Melvin F. Talbot, '16, American Ambulance Service. 

George S. Taylor, '08, attached to a French Hospital. 

Harold W. V. Temperley, Lecturer on History, '11-12; Lieu- 
tenant in Fife and Forfar Yeomanry, British Army. 



26o HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 

John Jenks Thomas, A.M. and M.D. '90, Harvard Surgical 

Unit. 
Paul Tison, '18, Morgan-Harjes Ambulance Service. 
Harold G. Tobey, M.D. '11, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Edward B. Towne, '06, M.D. '13, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
James C. Trumbull, '12, Assistant to Eliot Wadsworth, '98, 

in Work with War Relief Commission, Rockefeller Founda- 
tion. 
Percy R. Turnure, '94, M.D. (Columbia) '98, Chateau Passy 

Hospital, near Sens, France. 
Abram L. Van Meter, M.D. '13, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
John B. Van Schaick, L. '88-89, Relief Work in Belgium. 
RuFUS A. Van Voast, M.D. '06, Assistant to Dr. Martin in 

Foreign Legion, French Army. 
Henry R. Viets, Jr., M.D. '16, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Beth Vincent, '98, M.D. '02, American Ambulance Hospital 

Unit. 
Robert H. Vose, M.D. '96, Harvard Surgical Unit. 
Eliot Wadsworth, '98, War Relief Commission, Rockefeller 

Foundation. 
Horace S. Waite, '09, Chauffeur for EngUsh Expeditionary 

Force in Northern France. 
Francis Cox Walker, '94, Lieutenant, 3d Regiment, Canadian 

Garrison Artillery. 
John M. Walker, 'ii, American Ambulance Service, received 

Croix de Guerre. 
Joseph Walker, LL.B. '90, Chairman of Sub-Committee on 

Transportation; later Chairman of Lucerne-American Relief 

Committee. 
Richard C. Ware, '04, American Ambulance Service. 
Paul B. Watson, Jr., '15, American Ambulance Service. 
William B. Webster, Jr., 'n, American Ambulance Service. 
Reginald H. Weller, 'ii, American Ambulance Service. 
Harold F. Weston, '16, Y.M.C.A. Army Hut Work. 



HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 261 

Walter H. Wheeler, Jr., '18, American Ambulance Service, 
received Croix de Guerre. 

Paul D. White, '08, M.D. '11, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Herbert H. White, '93, Business Manager, Harvard Surgical 
Unit. 

Crosby Church Whitman, '85, in charge of two small hos- 
pitals for officers and men, in Paris; died March 29, 1916. 

Richard Whoriskey, '97, assisted at American Consulate, 
Hanover, Germany. 

Francis C. Wickes, LL.B. '15, Relief Work in Belgium. 

Bertram Willlams, '18, American Ambulance Service. 

George Williamson, '05, Lieutenant in English Army in Bel- 
gium; died of wounds November 12, 1914; believed to be 
first Harvard man killed in the War. 

Harold B. Willis, '12, American Ambulance Service, received 
Croix de Guerre. 

Charles S. Wilson, '97, ist Secretary, American Embassy, 
Petrograd; fitted up American Embassy at Petrograd, at own 
expense, as hospital to care for wounded Russian soldiers. 

Edwin C. Wilson, '17, American Ambulance Service. 

George Grafton Wilson, Professor of International Law; 
U.S. Legal Adviser to American Legation at the Hague. 

Philip D. Wilson, '09, M.D. '12, American Ambulance Hos- 
pital Unit. 

Charles P. Winsor, '17, American Ambulance Service. 

Paul Withlngton, '09, M.D. '14, Harvard Surgical Unit. 

Robert Withington, '06, Commission for Relief in Belgium, 
first in Limbourg and then in Antwerp. 

Oliver Wolcott, '13, American Ambulance Service. 

Philip H. Wood, '16, American Ambulance Service. 

Robert W. Wood, '16, American Ambulance Service. 



262 HARVARD MEN IN THE WAR 

DIED IN THE WAR 

Harry Gustav Byng, '13; killed, May 16, 1915, while fighting 

in British Army near Festubert, France. 
Andre C. Champollion, '02; killed, March 23, 1915, in 

trenches at Bois-le-Pretre, France. 
Victor Emmanuel Chapman, '13; killed in action, June 23, 

1916, fighting for France at Verdun. 
Allen M. Cleghorn, Assistant in Physiology, Harvard Medi- 
cal School, '98-00; Captain in Royal Army Medical Corps; 

died in England, March 20, 19 16, after brief illness. 
Henry Augustus Coit, '10; died, August 7, 1916, at French 

mihtary hospital of injuries received at front. 
Charles Robert Cross, Jr., '03; killed, October 8, 191 5, do- 
ing ambulance duty in France. 
Fritz Daur, S.T.M. '14; killed, November 20, 1914, while 

fighting in German Army in Flanders. 
Calvin Wellington Day, G.S. '12-14; killed, April 27, 1915, 

while fighting in British Army at Ypres. 
Henry Weston Farnsworth, '12; killed, September 29, 1915, 

while fighting in Foreign Legion at Tahure. 
Merrill Stanton Gaunt, And. '14-16; died, April 3, 1916, of 

cerebro-spinal meningitis in hospital at Bar-le-Duc, while in 

Morgan-Harjes Ambulance Service. 
Harold Marion-Crawford, 'ii; killed, in spring of 1915, 

while fighting in British Army at Givenchy. 
Clyde Fahibanks Maxwell, '14; killed in action on the 

Somme, July 3, 191 6. 
Robert Edouard Pellissier, '04; killed in action on the 

Somme, August 29, 1916. 
Norman Prince, '08; killed in France, October, 1916. 
Alan Seeger, '10; killed in action on the Somme, July, 191 6. 
DiLLWYN Parrish Starr, 'o8; killed in action in France, 

September 15, 1916. 



DIED IN THE WAR 263 

Edward Mandell Stone, '08; died, February 27, 191 5, in 
military hospital at Romilly, France, from woimds received 
while fighting in Foreign Legion. 

Crosby Church Whitman, '86; died, March 29, 1916, in ser- 
vice at Paris hospital. 

George Williamson, '05; died, November 12, 1914, in Bel- 
gium, of wounds received while fighting in British Army. 

The following Harvard men were lost in the sinking of the 
Lusitania, May 7, 1915: Carlton Thayer Brodrick, '08; 
Richard Rich Freeman, Jr., '09; Edwin William Friend, 
'08; Elbert Hubbard, '97; Herbert Stuart Stone, '94. 

George Perkins Knapp, '87, died at Diarbekir, Asiatic Tur- 
key, on or about August 7, 191 5, from fever or poison, after 
helping Armenians who sought refuge at his mission when 
Turkey entered the War. 



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